


It will be a long journey

by doberainbow



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: After Posada, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hair Washing, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, I really need a beta..., Jaskier is currently cursed, M/M, Major Character Injury, No Beta, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Room, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, monster of the week... kinda, roach is so done, temporarily blind Jaskier, there was only one bed!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 89,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doberainbow/pseuds/doberainbow
Summary: It has been only seven days since Posada and Geralt's paper-thin patience can't handle this chattering bardling following him everywhere.The witcher tries everything to scare him off and each time Geralt pushes Jaskier away the songbird comes back with more determination.Geralt stops trying after a while and accepts his fate as Jaskier's muse. This burden slowly seems to become a need and Geralt is not ready to handle his own feelings when he was denying them throughout his whole life.OR: How these two muppets trying hard not to fall in love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 190
Kudos: 473





	1. Seven days

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, 
> 
> Please forgive me for my grammar mistakes and how I drop commas everywhere they don't belong but English, as magnificent it is, is not my first language. 
> 
> As a small foreign baked potato I'm just trying to do my best :D
> 
> Enjoy the ride, it's is gonna be a long one. 
> 
> I hope your seat is comfortable.

Geralt was watching the bard stumble over a pile of rocks because he was not paying attention to his feet, while he was strumming jolly chords on his lute as he babbled about something nonsense. This little shit followed him for a week now since they met in that godforsaken tavern in Posada. Two bright blue eyes looked over at him to check if he saw how Jaskier nearly fell face-first onto the muddy road and Geralt made sure to glare at the other as an answer ‘Yes I did, now piss off and be quiet’ but the poet just grinned at him in mid-sentence and kept on walking front of Roach. He talked more than anyone the witcher ever met and not just talked, but Jaskier was able to continue to run his mouth while he ate or slept, and Geralt was sure the poet was the only living thing on the Continent who could talk while he was inhaling. It was just as extraordinary as it was bizarre.

It has been seven whole days since he had some silence or peace, and it was starting to get to him and wear him down. He tried everything, besides killing the bard, to chase him away, but the blue-eyed headache just kept bouncing back and follow him, no matter how hard he tried to express his distaste towards his company. Geralt knew it damn well he was not an easy person to be with, or at least he was sure about it until recently because, before Jaskier, there was no living soul on this land who actually enjoyed spending some time with him. Only Roach. Geralt patted the mare’s neck, who just puffed out some air as shook her big head.

Geralt was an honest soul, with others and with himself as well. He knew he was a nearly mute grouch who slew monsters for a living, and he was as entertaining or fascinating as a pile of human waste. But it was his life, he chose to live this way, and this loud-mouthed gossipmonger had no right to attach himself to Geralt’s journey. The bard had to go. Geralt needed some air that didn’t smell like Jaskier’s flowery scent.

“Bard!” Geralt called, and the poet turned around with a perfectly played chord and an ear to ear grin. His cheeks were flushed from walking in this heat, and he threw his hair back from his forehead while blinking up to the silver-haired man. “That road leads to Cargas, the city of fine arts.” Geralt said as he pointed towards a dusty road that curled exactly in the opposite direction. Jaskier looked over Roach to see the way, and then he looked back up to Geralt, who was pursing his lips together tightly. Jaskier smiled and was ready to pour probably thousands of questions onto Geralt, who was not prepared to answer any of them today or ever, so he spoke up quickly.

“Good luck then.” He nodded and gently pushed his heels into the horses’ fur to urge her into a slow walk.

“Oh, I thought we are going to Cargas then?” Called Jaskier after him, and the mutant heard him jog behind him a couple of steps before he caught up. “Anyway, thank you, I will visit it one day. It is a good thing you know the Continent so well, I swear all these woods and roads look exactly the same to me.” Jaskier chuckled, and Geralt was looking down on him with a frown. It was clearly a ‘Goodbye now leave me alone,’ but the bard was still walking next to Roach. The witcher thought he was blunt enough to make the brunet understand that he wanted him somewhere else. Anywhere else. Preferably on the other side of the world.

“Bard I...”Geralt inhaled sharply, and Jaskier’s sky-blue eyes caught something on the side of the road and absolutely ignored the silver-haired man’s groan.

“Look, Geralt, daisies. How beautiful isn’t it? Who knew they can get enough sunlight in these gloomy forests, huh? I could braid some of these into Roach’s hair, it would light up her mood, don’t you think?” He looked back up to the witcher who was trying hard to remember all those lectures from Vesemir about not hurting intelligent creatures. He was sure he could find a way out of it. After all, what counted as a rational being?

“What about you, Witcher?” The bard’s voice was playful as he kept picking the flowers, collecting them in his pockets, and Geralt felt some veins pop in his brain. “Some lighter colours never hurt a soul before.” Jaskier grinned at him as he walked back next to them, and the monster hunter felt those cornflower-blue orbs on his face. The troubadour smile was toothy, and he tilted his head to the side, making his brown hair bounce a little bit. He thought he was charming. It made Geralt even more pissed.

“If you come near Roach or me with those flowers, I will break your arms bard.” He hissed through his closed teeth, and Jaskier just blinked at him for a few moments before he threw back his head with a loud, bubbling laugh. Geralt's eyes narrowed at the sight of that broad display of pale neck, and he could feel his stomach jump wildly in his belly. The sound of Jaskier’s cackling echoed in the forest and rang loudly in the mutant’s ears as he quickly averted his eyes from the other man’s neck. He needed to get away from the poet before he either loses his sanity or his patience, and his own pale, cold fingers will wrap around that narrow throat. Or maybe he could use his fangs. Geralt shook his head and let that thought fly away as fast as it appeared, and they started walking again.

Several hours later, Jaskier was somehow still talking. He seemed to never run out of stories and ideas he felt necessary to share with the witcher, who didn’t even make a sound, not even a grunt, in the past few hours. Jaskier was perfectly fine with that apparently, and he could easily improvise Geralt’s answer by himself.

“How far is that village? I swear I can’t feel my legs. We haven’t stopped all day to rest.” The brunet started to whine an hour ago, and from one single breath, he took Jaskier to let out many moans and complains at the same time. It wasn’t adding up mathematically, but it was the least of Geralt’s problems right now.

“You don’t need to follow me, bard.” He snarled, and Jaskier looked over his shoulder with a smile.

“True. Yes, but then who would spread the heroic tales of the White Wolf if not me? Roach? As magnificent as she is, composing is probably not her strength.” Said the poet with a grin and slightly panting as he pulled on one of the lute’s strap until his instrument was dangling on his back. At least he was too tired to play that damned thing. “So? Are we close? Where are we going again? Syeged? Is that how it’s called?”

“We are close.” Mumbled Geralt while he battled noiselessly with a growing headache.

“Yes. Good. Great, but you said that an hour ago as well, Geralt.” Jaskier groaned, and the witcher’s stoic features didn't change due to the fact that his blood was boiling in his skull and cooking his brain into mush. “Are we really close? I can’t wait to sing my new ballad for the people.” Jaskier continued, and as always, his voice went somehow softer when he talked about his music. His whole posture shifted, and Geralt could hear his heart beat faster. The poet was young, barely an adult, but he carried a humble pride, and it showed on his face and body. Artists were always too foreign for Geralt. He was a beast created to destroy and not to create. He couldn’t see or appreciate the beauty, and his life was black and white while Jaskier see colours Geralt never even heard of.

“I can already smell the village. We are close.” He murmured gruffly, and Jaskier stopped walking in that second while one of his feet was still in the air.

“You can smell it?” He turned his head towards the witcher, eyes wide and lips parted. Geralt was familiar with his expression. It meant that he had a thousand new questions about witchers rushing through his head, and he tried to select and queue them up. “So...” Jaskier pink tongue run across his bottom lip while he breathed in. His round eyes were not leaving Geralt’s golden pair as he seemed to settle the chaos down inside his skull.

“How good are your senses? I mean, I know your hearing and eyesight are better than common people’s, and you are way stronger than anyone I ever met, and once I met this lord who could rip a pig in half, or at least that’s what they told me, but you…” Jaskier’s voice wandered off as his gaze slowly danced from Geralt’s yellow eyes to his silver-like hair, down to his necklace, to his swords, across his arms, and the witcher felt an uneasy feeling in his chest. As Jaskier gawked at him, he could nearly feel his skin prickle, and he cleared his throat to snap the poet out of his thoughts. Jaskier blinked up at him as his cheeks were turning into a darker shade of pink quickly, and Geralt could smell his lavender smell get somehow more oppressive. Warmer even.

“I can smell freshly baked bread and fish pies getting served in a tavern. I can hear the noises, the chatter of the villagers, and everything surrounding us. There is a lake nearby with ducks in the reed. I can hear the birds above us and the worms squirming under us.” Geralt mumbled hastily with a scowl, and Jaskier just gaped at him with such a pure fascination over his face it startled the witcher for a second. Jaskier quickly looked down on his boots, Geralt knows he was wiggling his toes, then looked up to the never-ending sea of leaves above them. “I can hear the blood rushing through Roach, and I know how fast your heart is beating right now.” Geralt continued with his hoarse voice and full intention of scaring away the bard or at least make him uneasy around him. Jaskier just stared at him with his lips still in that tiny o shape and red cheeks. Geralt could feel a smirk creep on his face and let the corner of his lips curve skyward for a quick second.

“That is... horrifying.” Muttered the poet and Geralt once for the first time since they met was satisfied with Jaskier’s reaction. Good, he had a goal to make the other freak out and be terrified of him, and he could hear the brunet’s heart going mad in his chest. Geralt was pleased. “It’s just terrifying to realise how... how jealous I am.” The bard whispered, and Geralt's face turned into a sour grimace. “Geralt, you are brilliant. I didn’t know your senses are so sharpened. You can truly hear my heart beating in my chest right now?” Jaskier asked, looking up to Geralt with those eager eyes, and the witcher wanted to groan. This is not the response he wanted. This is not a response his mutation should get from anyone.

“You can tell when someone is lying then? Oh dear, you knew when I was lying about that broken bottle? I am so sorry, it was an accident. I did not mean to break it and... and tell you it was Roach but…” Geralt just urged the horse to start walking again and let his mind build a wall around itself and don’t make Jaskier’s endless absurdity snake it way into his head. That village can’t be close enough.

Geralt was watching Jaskier dance around the tavern while he sang his new ballad proudly. The poet’s face was flushed, his chest heaving, and had a wide grin on his face. Geralt’s own rigid face muscles hurt just from glaring at the other, while Jaskier flirted his way into other’s purses. There was one thing the witcher couldn’t deny, and it was how hard the bard was working for those coins. As soon as they arrived, Jaskier jumped up to entertain the people, and Geralt knew it damn well the poet was exhausted and starving. He was whining about it the whole afternoon, making the mutant’s road a living hell, but here they were. Geralt was sipping his ale quietly in a dark, hidden corner, while Jaskier was prancing around and playing on his lute. Those yellow eyes were watching vigorously as the brunet threw a kiss to some maiden, and Geralt couldn’t help but wonder about what was this cheery bardling doing and following a monster like him.

Jaskier’s reaction from earlier still bothered him. He knew the poet wasn’t afraid of him. From the first second, he caught those blue eyes there was nothing but the smell of enthusiasm and eagerness lingering on the bard. Amongst other things as well. Like the scent of pride after he got a massive round of applause after his songs. Sometime Jaskier smelled hurt. After a long night, they spent sleeping on the cold ground Geralt woke up to the scent of the bard's as he stretched his sore muscles and groaned. He knew how Jaskier smelled like after he spent the night with a noble lady. Usually like some feminine perfume and happiness with a faint spice coming from his fading lust and arousal. It was a rather lovely scent, but Geralt never really let himself think about it for too long.

There was only one thing that bothered him more than anything about the troubadour, and it was how Jaskier was the first human Geralt ever met, who never reeked of the stench of fear or disgust around him, and he didn’t know why. Jaskier must know he could snap his body in half like a twig if he wanted to, and yet, here he was day after day annoying him and playing with his nerves like they were just strings attached to his lute. Geralt snorted and chugged the rest of his drink. The bard was a fool.

“Oh, sweet Melitele, these folks know how to appreciate great music.” Jaskier dropped his body down on the bench front of Geralt, panting and flustered. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and he had small droplets running down on his temple. He was only wearing his shirt tucked into the narrow waist of his trousers and had a pint of ale in his hand. “How did you like my new ballad?” He turned to Geralt, who looked away as the brunet licked the foam off his upper lip and smiled at the witcher.

“I didn’t.” Geralt grunted, and the poet’s smile shifted into a grin.

“Oh, come on you grump, I know deep down you enjoy my singing. Come on Geralt, tell me.” Jaskier was leaning over the table, his eyes not leaving the other’s pale face, which was growing restless under that hungry gaze.

“I will ask if they have any empty rooms.” He stood up because he was too tired and too blunt to answer the bard’s question politely, and Jaskier just chuckled at him as he turned around on the bench, ready to follow Geralt to the innkeeper.

“I know you have your opinion about my songs Geralt and you like it or not, you will tell me sooner or later what you truly think of them.” He said jokingly, and Geralt raised one silver eyebrow at the brunet and looked down at him. Jaskier was just a few inches shorter than the witcher, but it was good enough to be able to tower above him.

“I would love to see you try and force me to do anything, bard.” He said grimly, leaning into the other’s face, and he heard Jaskier’s heart skip a beat. It put a menacing curve into Geralt’s lips.

“I-I am very persistent Witcher, don’t challenge me.” He stuttered slightly, and Geralt was genuinely amused how firm the bard’s voice was, even if he could see his face blush and his lower lip tremble.

“Hm.” Geralt turned back to the innkeeper, who looked at the odd pair with some confusion. When the witcher locked eyes with the elderly man, he could smell the undeniable disgust oozing out of his skin, which was neither new nor surprising.

“One room.” Geralt said, and the old man’s face was now sour as he took a good look at the witcher, but the coins that the mutant quickly placed front of the owner was enough to at least stop his glaring.

“Dinner with that, Witcher?” The man pointed towards the kitchen with his bearded chin, and Geralt nodded.

“A bath as well.” He said, and the owner just looked at Jaskier, who was leaning on his elbow, smiling at some lady across the room.

“What about you, bard? Another drink?” Jaskier blinked at them, and his flirtatious grin turned into a polite smile.

“No kind Sir, not today. I would like the same as my good friend here.” He slapped Geralt on the shoulder gently, and the witcher just grunted and shook those slender fingers off of him.

“Sorry, mate, we only have one empty room tonight. The town is full.” The elderly shrugged, and Jaskier's face fell immediately.

“There must be something you could do, Sir. You see, we traveled all day and...”

“Sorry pal, as I said, your _ friend  _ here” He gave the dirtiest look he managed to Geralt while hissed the word friend. “got the last room. We are the only inn here, if you don’t want to sleep in the shed, you two should share the room.” He said and raised his thick eyebrows and folded his arms over his chest tightly. Geralt heard as the bard’s heart was going wild from anger and disappointment at the same time, and Geralt cursed in his head. If Jaskier can’t sleep in a bed, he knew it damn well he won’t stop complaining about this for days and wasn’t even sure why he was thinking about travelling with the blue-eyed irritation any longer. Still, he just growled and opened his lips before he could have stopped himself.

“I will take the shed. Give the room to him.” He said and took back some of his coins from where he placed it on the bar. He was looking forward to having a hot bath, but as a witcher, sleeping in a shed instead of some cave or just under the moon was a treat he was happy he could afford.

“No. No, absolutely not. I won’t let you. No, Geralt, you take the room. I will... I will sleep in the shed. It’s fine. I’m not some maiden or princess who needs a bed to get my beauty sleep.” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s forearm, and his palm was overwhelmingly warm even through the many layers he wears. The bard's slender fingers held him firmly as the brunet looked at the innkeeper.

“Alright.” The old man shrugged and took Geralt’s coins before they change their mind.

“We can share the room.” Yet again, that’s why he hated talking, because his brain only ran and tried to catch up with his stupid mouth. Geralt sighed and looked at the man. “Prepare two baths and dinners, we will share the room.”

“Geralt, we... you shouldn’t. I will be alright sleeping out there and...”

“Mate, I need some more coin then.” The owner raised his voice, and Jaskier let out a frustrated groan as he dug into his pocket and threw some more copper in the outstretched hand. “The last one on the left. Food and bath will be up soon.”

“Seriously Geralt, you can’t just decide these things by yourself. Unbelievable.” Jaskier was murmuring again, and Geralt just hm-ed in response, walking towards the stairs with the bard following quietly behind him. They never shared a room before, but Geralt didn’t mind as long as the other let him sleep, and even though he knew Jaskier sometimes talked when he was dreaming, he also knows that the other slept like a rock. He just wanted to rest, even if he had to put up with Jaskier’s chatter until the other dozed off.

The room was small and smelt like a black mould just like any other room in every village. It had a bed, though, and that was all the luxury Geralt needed in his life now. Jaskier was uncharacteristically quiet behind him as he closed the door, and the witcher was truly cherishing these peaceful seconds because he knew that it won’t last too long.

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” The bard’s voice was small and weak as he placed his belongings to the floor in one of the corners. “But just to let you know, I would have been perfectly fine sleeping outdoors. Roach is always sleeping outside, and she is a lady.” He babbled, and Geralt sat on the bed to remove his boots and armour. He could feel Jaskier’s eyes linger on his moves as he kicked off his shoes and started to undo his shoulder plates. The bard stopped and abandoned whatever he was doing, and now his full attention was on Geralt, who methodically loosened the straps which were securing the protective layers.

“So every witcher has the same armour?” Jaskier walked closer, not taking his curious eyes off of the other’s fingers as he talked. “Or is more...unique for all of you?” He looked up to Geralt’s face, who just pulled his left shoulder plate off his arm, and before he could throw it to the rest of his belongings, Jaskier paws were on it, snatching it away from the witcher. Geralt frowned as those long fingers ran over the silver-like spikes and studied every little mark on the surface.

“We wear the same clothes when we start training. After we all make some changes.” He offered this weak explanation gruffly, but Jaskier face lit up no matter how little information he got. The bard lazily pulled his eyes away from the leather piece between his hands and waited for Geralt to continue.

“How long did it take to figure it out what you want?” The mutant’s eyebrows dropped, and he sighed, why on earth, a poet needed to know that. He was not going to compose these witcher secrets into his next ballad because, honestly, who would want to know more about a witcher’s attire. No one cared what they wear as long as they finished their job and stayed far away from everyone.

“Decades.” Geralt mumbled roughly as he untied the knots on the other side as well, and Jaskier was there to catch the falling piece before it could land on the floor.

“Why only black? Is it a rule for witchers to be so dull and gloomy all the time?” Jaskier asked with a smile and was now turning around to place Geralt’s shoulder piece next to his pack.

“We hunt monsters, and they lurk in the dark. We need to be invisible and able to blend in.” Geralt clarified it, and the bard was now looking over the man, and he had to say, as much as Geralt tried to seem terrifying all the time, Jaskier found the witcher rather amusing.

Geralt was special, Jaskier knew it from the second he caught his dark, dangerous figure in Posada and since then, not a day passed without Jaskier being wholly stunned by something Geralt said or did. The man, even if he barely spoke words instead of grunts, was a fascinating companion. Witchers existed since human history was first written down, yet they knew nothing about them. Jaskier was greedy. He wanted to know everything immediately, but as he got to know the silver-haired monster hunter better each day, it was clear it won’t be easy. He felt like interrogating Geralt every damn time he asked a question, and dear Melitele, he was sure Geralt felt the same way. He could see the pain and fury on the witcher’s handsome face when he tried to either ignore or answer the bard’s questions in as few words as possible. But Jaskier didn’t mind it as long as the witcher let him stay by his side. Jaskier was stubborn, and he wanted to destroy those walls stone by stone what Geralt built around himself, and see what was on the other side.

“Gods knows I don’t want to upset you, but let me tell you, Witcher, wherever we go, you always have all the eyes on you. Someone like you can’t blend in.” He chuckled, and Geralt’s face darkened in mere seconds. The witcher knew his features were mutated, that’s why he preferred to hide under his cloak while he travelled around the Continent. He knew he was too monstrous for humans, and everyone liked to keep their distance when it came to witchers, especially him.

“Oh dear, your face, I did not mean it that way. I apologise. I don’t think most folks realise right away that you are a witcher, Geralt. I think you just have this alarming stare that sets many people off. And the swords are not too friendly either. They are huge.” Jaskier grinned at him while patting Geralt on his now armour-free shoulder, and the mutant felt his yellow eyes narrow. This bardling was touching him way too freely and without fear or hesitation, and Geralt was not used to it. Nobody touched him before without any ulterior motive, and Jaskier was so close to him all the time he felt like he needed to be cautious every minute of the day. It was exhausting.

“There is nothing wrong with how you look.” The bard voice snapped him out of his thoughts as he gestured towards Geralt’s face and smiled broadly at him. Geralt was frowning yet again and was ready to bare his teeth at the poet when a gentle knock on the door disturbed him. Without a word, Jaskier walked to the entrance to let the bar maidens in with bowls of steaming water in their arms. It only took them a couple of minutes to fill the two large tubs in the room as they took turns. Of course, Jaskier was flirting with every single one of them, and they took turns to blush and giggle at the bard’s silly jokes while they completely ignored Geralt, who just stood next to the bed like a statue. The door finally closed, and the steam was weighting down the air in the room, making Geralt’s tunic stuck to his skin and giving rosy cheeks to the poet. Jaskier was instantly elbow-deep in his pack, the noises of his glass jars and containers hitting each other’s where overlaid with his quiet humming as he chooses several oils and soaps for his bath. Geralt was not that fancy. Hell, he just needed to relax his muscles until his skin turned red and wash off the last couple of himself. He threw his tunic somewhere in the corner and was undoing the buttons on his leather trouser as Jaskier finally found what he was looking for and turned around with three small jars in his hand.

“I have some oil to soothe strained muscles, and I believe we need that. Oh, and this is some salt from the mountains to...” Jaskier was babbling as he studied the small bottles in his palms while he walked over to Geralt only to let his words die in his throat with a gasp when those eyes finally find Geralt’s figure.

Oh yes. The scars. Jaskier hasn’t seen them before. Geralt often forgets the marks all over his skin and how hideous they are. The bard was with him for only a week, and they still turned away when the other changed or bathed in a river, giving each other some privacy. Now it was all thrown out of the window as the poet's gaze was racing all over his skin. Jaskier’s round eyes grew, and his lips fell apart as he gawked at the witcher’s body. Geralt realised a minute later that he was holding back his breath and quickly cursed at himself for doing so while he turned away from the bard to finish undressing.

“I don’t need those.” He said in a throaty voice, and he heard Jaskier’s sharp inhale as his back was facing the brunet.

“G-Geralt, these are all...” Jaskier whispered so softly the witcher had to look over his shoulder to make sure it was really Jaskier speaking, and he caught it as the bard’s face shifted from his shocked staring into an amazed gaze. “Sweet Lioness of Cintra, I have never seen so many scars in my life.” The poet gasped, but it wasn’t that painful, choked out noise like before. No. It was full of adoration and curiosity, and Geralt was startled. He was not expecting a reaction like this. “These are... oh and this one is... Geralt, you need to tell me everything about them. I want to know everything about, oh dear, how did you survive that one?” Jaskier was mumbling while unconsciously stepped closer to study each and every mark on the pale skin displayed in front of him. Geralt was shortly slapped in the face with the flowery scent of the bard’s hair as Jaskier walked over to him with his fingers not quite touching the mutant, but lingered just close enough to feel their heat. The witcher was confused, no one ever found his scar anything else but grotesque. Even the whores he paid for didn’t like to touch them, and it was absolutely understandable. Scars were nothing but reminders how many times he was too slow or careless enough to let monsters get close enough to sink their claws and fangs into him. He carried on his body past mistakes, and now Geralt felt like he offered this on a silver plate to Jaskier, who was still counting them and babbling about every wound on his body.

“Your skin is like a diary of your past hunts, they are truly breathtaking Geralt. I never knew, I never even thought about witchers having scars. I always thought your skin just heals without leaving anything behind, but these... these... I could write hundreds of ballads about these. Some of them are like rivers, it’s just...” Geralt quickly become uneasy as he cleared his throat, and Jaskier’s lips were pressed in a fine line when his blazing eyes met the witcher’s yellow glare. “stunning.” He whispered, and Geralt just grunted as he pushed Jaskier out of the way to get to the tub.

“These are just scars, bard. Most of them are so old I can’t recall what caused them.”

“J-just scars? Geralt, you have absolutely no sense for poetics, my friend.” Jaskier stuttered and looked somewhat offended.

“We are not friends.”

“Yes, of course. Sure. We are travelling companions. Whatever. Those marks on your skin, are stories that need to be told. These... these are the proof of your heroism and... and fearlessness.” Jaskier was too excited for his own good, and Geralt felt his patience snap. He wanted nothing more than to just lay in the water in peace.

“Bard?” His voice was gruff, and Jaskier’s mouth was still open, his hands were in the air as he painted a beautiful picture of whatever idea he had in his mind, and he blinked at Geralt. “Get in the fucking tub.” He hissed, and Jaskier was gaping for a moment, just like when he had way too many things to say at once. Geralt started to unbutton his trousers and let it fall on the floor, and that was finally enough to make Jaskier snap out of his thoughts and make him move to his own bath while he murmured something under his breath. As soon as he was seated and surrounded by the hot water, Geralt let himself melt into the shape of the tub with a groan. His muscles cried out in bliss. It was delightful how quiet it was.

He could still hear Jaskier folding his shirt and humming to himself, he was really unable to stay in silence, but it was a rather soft melody. He could still hear the inn below them being busy with gossips, laughter, and drunken arguments, but he could shut all of that out of his mind so easily. It was only him, and the heat surrounding him, and that small moan from Jaskier as he finally dropped himself in the water. Geralt's lungs were immediately filled with whatever scented soap and oil the bard used. Still, it was subtle and delicate enough for Geralt to actually enjoy the mixed aromas in their room.

“Hey, Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was still velvety like if the witcher’s name was part of the lullaby, he was humming earlier. “I really do want to know everything about your scars. If you can remember how you got them, of course. I think it would make a beautiful story, and you should not be ashamed of them.” Geralt's eyes snapped open, and now he was staring at the ceiling. He never said he was ashamed of the wounds all over his body, but as soon as Jaskier told that his chest uncomfortably tightened. It was new. He never had someone seeing through his façade he built so carefully over decades. His skin was thick and hard as marble, and somehow this young poet managed to squirm his way under his mask and slowly peel it off.

“Do you need the lavender or the citrus soap? I got them from the market a couple of days back while you had that argument with the judge about that giant centipede. I think you would like the lavender better. It’s has a softer smell.” Geralt’s eyes were still open, as he nearly burned a hole on the ceiling with his glaring. He heard the water splash on the wooden floor as Jaskier turned around in his bath to look at the witcher.

“Geralt? Are you meditating?” The bard whispered, and Geralt’s snort was beyond sarcastic. How could he with all this babble? The mutant’s eyes fluttered close as he reached over his head for whatever soap the poet was giving to him. The poet dropped the bar into Geralt’s open palm, and his calloused fingertips brushed his skin for not more than a second, but long enough to make the witcher shiver. Jaskier turned away from the silver-haired man and started scrubbing himself off. “So, what are we hunting for tomorrow?”

“Bloedzuiger.” Geralt muttered while he tried to shake off the prickling feeling he got after that tiny touch, and Jaskier’s bubbly laugh was echoing in the room like the witcher said something awfully amusing.

“Are you making up monsters now?” The poet asked between giggles.

“It’s killed half a dozen farmers in the swamps the past few weeks. They are miserable creatures.” Geralt murmured as he ran the soap up and down his arms until his skin and pores smelled like nothing but lavender.

“Oh, that sounds awful. But anyway, that abomination will rot in hell after tomorrow, right?”

“Hm.”

They were quiet after that. Both of them scrubbing their nails and rinsing off the dirt that stuck on their skin during their journey. Geralt heard it in the last town they passed that there was something swallowing folks in the swamps, and the coins he would get after selling the bloedzuiger’s body parts and bodily fluids were always decent. Jaskier, of course, wanted to know more about the creature. It seemed as the bard’s desire for knowledge was bottomless. He was assaulting the witcher with his questions even after they were finished with their baths and drying themselves off and changing into their underclothing. Two plates of food were brought up to their room, and the smell of roasted pork and baked potato were quickly filling up the room.

“So, what was the most gruesome creature you ever killed?” Jaskier was still finishing off his plate while Geralt was cleaning his swords. The bard ate slower than him with all that talking he did, and now the poet was just poking the food with his fork while he watched the witcher work. It was Geralt’s usual ritual before the bed. The smell of steel and silver wrapped in their leather vessels was always calming him down.

“All monsters are the same. Better without their heads.” He said roughly as the bard was gathering their plates and placed them on the small table beside their door. Jaskier sighed in frustration as Geralt’s answer was not fulfilling enough, but that was all the witcher had to say about it. Take it or leave it.

“Anyway, I will see this monster with my own eyes tomorrow and hopefully many more, so maybe one day I can make that decision for myself.” Jaskier spun around on his heels with a smile as he kneeled next to his pack to grab a small glass bottle. The mutant watched as the bard started to apply a thick, honeyed paste onto his face. Geralt stared as the poet smeared the salve under his eyes and over his cheeks, careful not to touch his hair and gently rub it into his skin. It was somehow mesmerizing to see those long fingers massage it in the pale skin until the salve disappeared, and the bard’s face was now shiny and flushed. Once Jaskier caught Geralt staring at him while he did this, and he said it was necessary if he wants to keep his youthful features, and he mentioned something about the traveling makes his skin dry as a bone. The bard was young, Geralt didn’t know how old exactly, but the bright-eyed brunet was barely an adult.

“Well.” Jaskier turned around, patting his cheeks with a grin, and went to the small drawer where these rooms usually kept their spare blankets. “Do you still need the candles?” He asked over his shoulder as he pulled two large sheets out of the drawer and then shut it with his hip.

“No.” Geralt said and watched as Jaskier walked over the bed the witcher was sitting on and dropped the covers next to it.

“May I have one of the pillows?” Jaskier pointed at the two yellowish cushions but didn’t wait for Geralt’s answer, and he already snatched one of them and threw it on the floor. Geralt knit his eyebrows together as Jaskier laid one of the blankets on the floor, then he kneeled to place the pillow at one end and pulled the other cover over his frame.

“What are you doing?” Blurted out Geralt as Jaskier stood up again with a blanket wrapped around him to blow out the candles. The bard cocked his head to the side and had a confused look on his face.

“Oh, I just, I thought you are ready to sleep?” He pointed at the candles as he tilted his head to the other side, and his chestnut hair was softly bouncing and falling over his eyes. Geralt wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose, but instead, he just breathed in slowly and ignored the sound of Jaskier’s heart nervously beating in his chest.

“Why are you taking the floor? The bed is plenty big for both of us.” His voice was irritated, and as his amber eyes locked onto the bard again, he saw and heard the blood run into the poet’s glossy cheeks, and he was now blinking between the bed and the witcher.

“I... I just thought. I didn’t want to bother you and...” Geralt raised one single grey eyebrow, and Jaskier’s babbling became erratic. He was bothering Geralt since the first second he decided to follow the mutant out of that tavern in Posada.

“Y-you already sharing your room with me, and I thought, I mean, I know you need proper rest, and you should absolutely take the bed. I will just... just...” He looked at his makeshift nest on the floor, and he was biting into his bottom lip and worrying the pink flesh with his teeth. “Sleep on the floor?” Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a hesitant smile, and the man now did roll his eyes.

“I am not going to listen to you whine all day tomorrow because you couldn’t rest. Get on the fucking bed, bard.” Geralt growled with a pointed glare and turned around to finally catch some damn sleep. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders, and as soon as his head hit the pillow, the smell of many things, he didn’t want to think about, hurried their way into his nose. Geralt flopped onto his back with a grunt. Even though his eyes were already closed, he knew that Jaskier was still just standing like he grew roots into the floor in the middle of their room. The bard needed a couple of seconds to realize the witcher was not joking with him, and his body finally moved towards the table. He blows out the candles with a single breath and because he was a normal human being without the ability to see in the dark like someone else, thank you very much, he stumbled over his makeshift bed to actually fall next to Geralt. Jaskier whispered a soft apology, grabbed the pillow from the floor, and quickly tucked it under his head. Geralt opened his eyes as Jaskier was moving under the covers, trying to find the most comfortable position. Jaskier was trying to lay as further away from the witcher as he could, not to accidentally touch him and in his sleep and make Geralt angry. After a few minutes, Jaskier settled down for good and let a long breath leave his lungs.

“Good night, Geralt.” He whispered nearly inaudibly, and Geralt just remained silent. He knew Jaskier was used to not get any response from him by now, so he just kept staring into the darkness. The bard’s body was hot, like if someone threw a glowing ember on the other side of the bed, and it was weirdly comforting. Geralt’s eyebrows draw together. Jaskier also smelled good, his flowery, sweet scent mixed with his citrusy soap, and it was pleasantly covering up the stink of the pillows. Geralt quickly got to the conclusion that it was something he didn’t mind about the other. Jaskier could be fairly tolerable when he was quietly laying in Geralt’s bed. That thought made his face flinch, and for now, he decided to ignore the warmness spreading in his chest, and he shut his eyes again.

“Hey, Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was low and throaty, and Geralt felt the poet’s breath on his bare shoulder. “I think I speak in my sleep sometimes. I apologize for that.” Jaskier now was just being coy, because he knew it damn well the witcher will not kick him out of bed, and Geralt knew it damn well the bastard was grinning. “Sleep well.” He said and turned onto his other side, inching closer to the centre of the bed. Geralt considered to kick the brunet out of his bed, but as soon as Jaskier breathing become slow and rhythmical, he didn’t honestly bother him. After all, the bard always smelled so fucking good, and before he even knew it, Geralt was sleeping with his face turned towards Jaskier, listening to the soft drumming of his heart.


	2. Jaskier the fearless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone, 
> 
> another chapter here. 
> 
> Again, I apologise for grammar mistakes and typos, English is not my first language. 
> 
> This story btw will be sloooow burn and angsty with fluff heavily sprinkled on the top of it.  
> I blame it on Geralt  
> ¯\\_( ͡❛ ͜ʖ ͡❛)_/¯

It was a rainy Thursday. Four days since they left the inn where they shared a room and both of them surprisingly survived it, and three dead bloedzuigers were left behind them as they rode into this dim town. It was Geralt who was actually riding, Jaskier was just wandering next to him, eager as ever with his new swamp monster ballad.

“Can we stay here for the night, Geralt? I want to perform my new song.” The bard’s voice was just as thrilled as the mixed happy scents oozing out of his skin as Geralt hopped off Roach next to the poet and those cornflower-blue eyes locked onto his face eagerly.

“Hm.” He could use a night of sleep in a proper bed and some warm food that wasn’t roasted by him above a makeshift fire in the middle of a cave. Jaskier hollered from happiness and was marching headfirst into the village, looking for his unsuspecting audience. “Come on, Roach.” Geralt pulled the reins gently, leading the mare by his side and yanked his hood further down and over his face. Thankfully everyone was too busy staring at the songbird skipping front of him, and they all ignored the looming witcher behind the troubadour. 

“I will go ahead while you tie up Roach,” Jaskier called over his shoulder and was already halfway through a door, which led into a not so inviting establishment. Geralt walked into the stable, tying up Roach gently and giving her some well-deserved strokes and sweet whispers.

“I’ll be back soon.” The mutant patted on her neck as he threw his pack over his shoulder and walked inside the tavern.

“A Witcher? Oh, my good fellow, today is just your lucky day because my friend, who is... ah, here you are Geralt. These fine people here just need your help, can you believe it? Your fame finally reached every corner of this Continent.” He was still in the doorway with dozens of eyes boring into him as Jaskier slid to his side and placed his palm on the mutant’s shoulder what Geralt just shrugged off immediately with a snarl.

“You can thank me later for that,” Jaskier whispered the last sentenced into Geralt ear, and the witcher glared at the poet who just gave him a toothy grin as a response. It was pointless to frown and hiss at Jaskier anymore. The bard becomes immune to Geralt’s vague threats, and it made the witcher squirm inside his own body. There was an older mad, slowly stepping closer to the mutant who reeked of terror. It was a farmer judging by his muddy clothes and dirty fingernails.

“S-sir Witcher.” His voice was trembling, he was reeking of fear and something even more sour and acidic. Grief. It was way too familiar for his sharpened senses. “There is a beast in our fields. It killed my son in front of my own eyes.” The man’s cheeks were wet with his tears, leaving clean marks on the dusty skin, and Geralt glanced over to Jaskier for a second to see the poet's face turn pale, and his round eyes widen. The tavern was deadly quiet. Geralt could clearly hear every single heartbeat in the room, and their rhythms were too fast for his likings.

“What was it?” His voice sounded rudely cold, but it is how it always was, he couldn’t change it, nor he cared about how he seemed to these people. When he spoke, it wasn’t to make friends or give hope. He asked questions to hunt down a beast and leave after he got his coins for it.

“I can't tell, sir. It was dark, and it snatched my boy away in a heartbeat. It had wings, and he lifted my son... my only son like he weighed nothing. My lad, I could hear him scream for me while it flew away with him.” The man was now sobbing loudly, and he tried to rub away the tears with the heels of his palms with no success. Jaskier pulled out one of his embroidered handkerchiefs from his pocket to give it to the weeping man wordlessly. “T-thank you.”

“Ya know wha’ i’ is witcher?” It was a shout from somewhere behind the mourning father, and again, Geralt felt all those eyes staring at him but now with doubt.

“Could be many things. Skoffin or a wywern most likely on these lands.” He said gruffly, and there was some whispering in the room as most of these folks never heard of such monsters before.

“Witcher, I will give you every last of my coin if you bring back my son or what... what is left of him.” The elderly man pleaded, and Jaskier’s throat tightened, and he could feel tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. This poor farmer lost his whole world in mere seconds, and yet he was not seeking revenge or searching for justice. He just wanted to bury his son and give him the peace he deserved. Jaskier stared at Geralt, who was frowning at the crowd, and the bard’s heart was beating double inside his ribcage. He knew it well by now how much Geralt hated being called a hero, but for this terrified father, the witcher was everything he ever needed. Geralt was maybe a brute, a monster slayer, some may say he was a beast as well, but Jaskier disagreed. The silver-haired man was the bravest, most heroic man he ever met or heard of, and his humbleness should be something to sang thousands of ballads about. Geralt was magnificent in Jaskier’s eyes, and he wished he could share his views with everyone on the Continent because the man deserved praises and celebration.

“Tell me where you last have seen your son.” Geralt's rough voice and frown were not enough to discourage people from cheering loudly and raise their ales in the air spilling it everywhere as they clink their mugs. The room’s air changed around them. The maidens behind the bar clapped, and someone even whistled. Jaskier’s heart was drumming in his chest like it wanted to burst through his flesh, and he shouted and hugged some lad who happened to be next to him.

Geralt was outside with the farmer who gave him directions which way he should start looking while Jaskier gave his lute to one of the ladies who worked in the kitchen to keep it safe. The girl blushed fast and beautifully down to her delicate neck, and Jaskier was thinking about kissing her just right there where the flush ended, but he needed to hurry if he wanted to keep up with Geralt.

“Alright Witcher, we need some work to do, which way are we going?” He walked outside with a loud cheer, pulling his trousers higher on his waist. He only needed his notebook and his quills while he watched the silver-haired man hunt down the beasts. Occasionally, he kept Roach safe and away from the fight while he looked after Geralt’s bags and belonging. The witcher never let him help or get too close to the battles. It wasn’t because he tried to protect Jaskier, no, he just didn’t want the bard to get in his way.

“You are not coming with me, bard.” Geralt grunted and was marching towards the stables. Jaskier felt like he was slapped across his face by some mistreated lady. The witcher often told him to stay out and don’t follow him, but his voice was never this serious and dark before.

“Geralt, how am I supposed to tell the tales of your heroism while you save the son of... of this great man if I’m not there to witness it?” He ran after the mutant who was already untying Roach from the pole and quietly apologized from her for the disturbance. Gods, he really did love that animal. It always made Jaskier’s heart was beating just a tad faster when Geralt was gentle with the mare and whispered sweet nothing into her fur.

“Not this time.” It was only a bark coming from the witcher, and Jaskier turned to stand in front of the other with his arms tightly folded over his chest and his chin held high.

“You can’t leave me behind because I know it damn well you will never tell me anything when it’s over. Geralt, I need to see you do your... witchering to inspire me and write songs.” Jaskier knew he was whining, but it usually worked. Not with Geralt, though, he just became more pissed and stormed off most of the time. Others often gave in. But now Geralt stopped securing the saddle and stepped into Jaskier’s space so quickly the air caught in the poet’s throat with a soft whistle. Geralt was so close to his face; he could feel the man’s breath on his lips and see his catlike eyes expands in the darkness.

“If it’s a skoffin, that boy is already gutted, and there will be no remains to bring back, maybe a finger if I have some luck. There will be nothing to sing about, bard. Stay here and fucking pray it was a wywern what took him.” Geralt hissed and bared his sharp canines at him, and Jaskier was washed over with shame. His face turned red under the yellow gaze, and he looked away from the witcher, stepping to the side to let the man go. He sounded like some leech who was feeding on others' misery and pain. He felt sick in his stomach in a minute, and in the meantime, the witcher was already leading the horse out of the stables. Jaskier was still standing with his hands clenched into fists by his side as he watched the monster hunter get into the saddle effortlessly.

“Wha-what if it’s a wywern Geralt?” He called after the mutant not loud and brave enough for a human to hear it, but Geralt was not a human after all.

“Just pray.” That was all Geralt grunted before he disappeared between the wooden houses and rode towards the fields. Jaskier’s heart was beating in his throat, and he was worrying the inside of his cheeks with his teeth. He could feel the same still linger on him, slowly turning into that weighty fear he always felt when watching the witcher leave. He only knew Geralt for less than two weeks, but he was concerned each time the silver-haired man went after a monster. Jaskier never knew when Geralt will return if he survives the hunt at all.

Being a witcher’s friend was hard on the heart. It even made it harder when the other did not see him as his friend; just as some dirt stuck to his boots, he couldn’t shake off. Jaskier laughed and teased when Geralt brushed him off or pushed him away, but he always felt that sharp aching in his chest while he kept a smile on his face. He knew it from the second he saw Geralt in that pathetic little tavern that this man was his destiny. It was not his hunger or the lack of coin that made him follow the great White Wolf, but the unreadable and gloomy charm of the witcher’s, and Jaskier’s own stupidity to be honest. He is young and reckless, thirsty for adventures, and brave enough to tag along with the Butcher of Blaviken. His dear mother’s heart would stop immediately if she would know who he chose as his muse. But he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to Geralt as a sunflower seeking for the rays of the Sun on a cloudy day.

And dear Gods in heaven, it was a thrill. He loved every blessed second he could spend in the presence of the cantankerous man. Every trouble he had to face day after day, every single time when he had to sleep under the open sky on the cold ground was worth it when he shared it with Geralt. Jaskier never thought he will feel being so alive from only to be near someone.

“He will kill me.” Jaskier sighed as he tapped on his doublet’s pocket to confirm he still had his notebook, and his legs jumped into a fast race towards the path where the fields laid. Geralt will kill him this time definitely, but as long as he could watch the man fight against a monster like it was just some dance, Jaskier didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about it twice. The blood was rushing in his veins too loudly. He couldn’t hear his commonsense shouting with him.

Jaskier was in the woods, alone, and it seemed like the noises were louder than usual when he is with Geralt. Or it was just his nerves. He was childishly careless when he was with the witcher, and he realised it now how black it is between the trees during the night. Geralt was able to see in the dark, but just for Jaskier’s sake, he always had a torch lit up when they had to travel during these hours. Jaskier reminded himself to thank Geralt for that the next time when he sees the witcher. He could have taken a candle with himself, but again, he was reckless and a fool, and one day that will get him into so much trouble, he hoped the monster hunter would be there to save his arse.

“Fuck.” Jaskier muttered as he nearly fell over some branches on the ground. His breath was raggedy, and he could feel sweat running down on his temples, and back from running here so hastily he nearly broke his feet. He had absolutely no idea where he was or which way he should go. Jaskier vaguely remembered which way he came from, but as he looked behind himself, he realized that he can’t see shite in the forest.

“He is going to kill me if he ever finds me.” He breathed out a groan and wiped down his face with the back of his hand when he heard some noise. It was from far away, but it was difficult to tell since the woods carried the echo smoothly until Jaskier bones shivered from the sound. It was somewhere between a cry and a shriek, and it was most certainly not human-made. The scream came again, louder this time with more agony, and Jaskier, because he was a dumb man, was running towards the roar instead of running away from it. Whatever he will see there, he will write the best song about it and make Geralt eat his words. The noises were getting louder and more violent. There were some flickering lights as well far away, making it easier for him to race through the forest. Jaskier was running so fast he nearly fell unconsciously to the ground when he collided with something soft with a loud thump. His head spun around as he stumbled back and landed on his backside, and whatever runs into him did the same front of him.

“Melitele’s tits what...” He blinked the dizziness out of his eyes and looked up to see a young, thin boy covered in dirt and blood gawking at him and heaving. “H-hey, you are alright? Are you hurt?” Jaskier got up on his feet rapidly to move closer to the youth who was so frightened he was only able to shake his head. His messy, blonde hair was bouncing all over his face, and Jaskier offered an arm to pull him up from the ground. The small youngster weighed nothing as the bard helped him get on his trembling feet. “Are you... you are the farmer’s son?” Jaskier whispered, and the boy shakily nodded as the poet held his shoulders, and the youth violently shivered in his whole body suddenly when the noises of the fight were getting more vicious. 

“I-I’m Izaak.” He whimpered, and Jaskier was bending down to look the terrified boy in the eye.

“It's all good now, Izaak, you are safe. Do you know where is Ge-… where is the Witcher?” The boy was quivering, and his skin was covered in cuts and goosebumps. His cheeks were only clean, where his tears washed away the dirt in narrow rivers. His teeth were clicking together as he shook.

“He is still fighting with them. He... he told me to run and don’t look back.” Izaak sobbed quietly, the poet just smiled at him and brushed some stay stands of hair away from the boy’s forehead.

“Good. Good lad, you did great. Can you...” Jaskier's voice withdraws in his throat as his brain finally understood what the boy just said. “Them? As in... more than one?” Jaskier asked, and Izaak's eyes widened with fear, and he nodded hesitantly.

“F-five. It was a nest,” Jaskier’s whole body drenched in a cold sweat at those words, and he could feel his pulse bursting in his neck. If anyone  _ he  _ knew it damn well what Geralt was capable of. The witcher was fearless and brilliant at killing beasts with one single swing of his sword. The silver-haired man was clever and capable of making unimaginable moves, but Jaskier couldn’t help and convince that gut-wrenching feeling in his belly. Five against one, no matter how skillful Geralt was, seemed to be terrifyingly outnumbering.

“We need to get you back to your father.” Jaskier rumbled, and the boy just frantically nodded his head while the poet whistled as loud and sharp as he could with his erratic breathing and aching chest. “Come on, girl, I know you are always near.” Jaskier was looking around the black forest, trying to see any movement in the unsteady light, and he was sure he seemed slightly crazy to this boy. A freaked out dirty bard in the middle of the forest running towards a deadly battle without any weapon. He truly lost his mind. He didn’t even have a plan on how to help the witcher. He just knew he wanted to be there for him.

“Oh, dear, there you are.” Jaskier cried out unnecessarily loud as he caught the white patch on Roach’s nose with his eyes in this dim forest while the mare trotted towards them. “You are the most reliable creature I have ever met, Roach, bless you, Girl.” The horse was poking Jaskier’s chest with her head and stomped her back feet madly on the ground as soon as she reached him. “I know I will find him.” The brunet soothed her quietly and turned around to the boy. “You know how to ride a horse?” He asked, and Izaak just shook his head as a yes.

“Great. Roach?” Jaskier spun back and looked the mare square in her eyes, holding onto the reins around her soft cheeks. “Take him back to the village you hear me? Take him back to his father and come back for us, Girl. Oh, gods, I’m talking to a horse.” Jaskier looked skywards with a groan, but the mare huffed and butted him in the chest as another high pitched shriek echoed between the trees. Jaskier stepped to the kid and lifted him up by his waist and put him in the saddle. Jaskier stepped to the mare when Izaak was safely sitting on Roach’s back. “Go as fast as you can, Girl and come back for us, do you understand?” He whispered as he pressed a small feather-light kiss to her soft snout before looking up to Izaak, who was still in considerable shock.

“Go find your father.” He said softly and pushed the horse away, urging her into a fast sprint. Jaskier was watching them until they disappeared in the night, then he spun around on his heels. He needed a plan, he couldn’t just run into the fight die from the first attack. He was a man of many talents, but monster-slaying was not one of them. He didn’t own or wielded a sword or even a dagger in his whole life, and at this moment, he truly regretted it. He had to get closer to see if Geralt was in any danger or needed his help. Jaskier was trying to sneak up on them, but wherever he stepped, there was a loud crack under his boots, and he felt like even his breathing was ear-piercing in this silence. The fire was getting brighter now. He could see movements behind the thick wall of wilderness, and the noises of the battle were deafening from this distance. Whatever monsters Geralt was facing, their cries were banging inside Jaskier’s skull, and he was gritting his teeth each time the beasts screamed. He reached a huge tree and hid behind it for a few seconds as he tried to calm down his heavy breathing and make his shaking legs to keep on moving.

“Come on, Jaskier.” He groaned and slowly poked his head out to peek around, and as soon as he blinked out the blinding firelight from his eyes, he felt his heart sink into his stomach. There were four massacred dragon-like creatures on the ground scattered around. Their black and purplish scales were slashed and torn everywhere, leaving rivers of blood in the mud. Jaskier guts twisted and he bit into his tongue to stop himself from cursing out loud. There was a fire in the nearby bushes, and even some of the crowns of the trees were burning. There was another roar, but it was deeper and coarser than before. It came from the witcher who was knocked off his feet by the monster’s tail and fell to the ground with a lung-crashing thump. Jaskier clamped his lips shut with his palms not to accidentally shout out the silver-haired man’s name loudly. The beast seemed to be viciously pompous about the witcher being disoriented for an instant and dove into a jump to plummet on the man’s chest, knocking his sword out of his grip. Jaskier's trembling legs took a shaky step from behind the tree, then his whole body freezes as he saw Geralt grab the beast by his fangs and tried to keep him away from his face, while the creature’s wings and claws slashed the man’s armour and the flesh beneath. Geralt let out a pained roar, and Jaskier had to shut his eyes. He could not watch this. He couldn’t witness the other fighting for his life like this, wriggling under that beast in agony. Jaskier’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in every inch of his body. His bones were shaking under his skin, and his brain was a useless bloody mush.

Jaskier didn’t know when he started to run towards his friend. He didn’t recall when he screamed at the monster to get its attention. Jaskier did remember though how those yellow eyes of the witcher stared at him utter disbelief. He did realise how Geralt’s face was covered in blood, and he heard the thundering howl what left the creature’s mouth as Jaskier held the silver sword above his head and swing it with all the power he possessed towards the beast’s body. He felt the hot splash of blood on his arms as the silver blade cut through the thick scales, and the monster cried out in misery. He was aware that his eyes were tightly closed as he managed to cut deep into the long snake-like neck. But Jaskier will never know what holy spirit took over his body and blessed him with bravery as he stood there soaked in blood while the monster bleeds out on top of the stunned witcher.

“F-fuck.” Jaskier coughed, and his fingers trembled so hard he dropped the sword into a poodle of guts. He fell to his knees and tried to calm down his wrenching stomach. “Oh, gods.” He moaned and gagged as his whole body was twisting on the inside. He was on his knees and elbows breathing deeply as his body reacted to the rush of his first kill, and Jaskier was sure he will pass out in any given second.

“Jaskier?” He heard his name being called, but the blood was rumbling so loudly in his ears; it was like standing next to a waterfall. “Jaskier?” The voice called again, and he felt two hands hold his shoulders and pull him up from the ground. He only realised he is crying when he felt his tears slide over his chapped lips. One hand left his shoulders, and he felt gloved fingers sweeping his hair away from his eyes. The bard was blinking frantically. He felt a thumb wiping away his tears on his right cheek, and his vision finally cleared up to see Geralt kneeling front of him and holding his face like he thought Jaskier will shatter into millions of pieces at any moment.

“G-Geralt?” His voice was pitiful, and he was sniffing as the other man just run his yellow eyes over Jaskier’s ruined clothes and quivering body.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Geralt's voice was almost worried under that rawness, and the bard could only shake his head and hiccup when the man locked eyes with him again. “What the bloody fuck were you thinking?” Came the hiss from between gritted sharp teeth as Geralt hold Jaskier’s shoulders tightly but gentle enough not to hurt the bard. “I told you to fucking stay away, you goddamned idiot. What were you thinking, trying to kill a wywern? You...”

“But, I killed it.” Jaskier muttered, and he saw Geralt’s face darken from anger, and his lips were now pulled back in a feral snarl. “I-I’m sorry.” The poet stuttered out quickly before the witcher snaps his neck, and he saw Geralt inhale deeply through his mouth. “Are you alright?” Jaskier asked with a faint smile, and Geralt let go of his shoulders like Jaskier’s body burned his palms somehow, looking away from where his sword was laying in a puddle of wywern blood.

“Only a scratch.” He rasped out and got up on his feet, turning his back towards the poet who was sitting on his heels awkwardly looking around on their small battlefield.

“How did you kill all of them?” He asked absolutely baffled as he counted again the five bodies all over the field.

“Without your help.” Geralt barked at him, and Jaskier felt a layer of shame build up in his throat, making it hard to swallow.

“I’m sorry I sneaked after you, alright? I do... but...”

“There is no but bard. If I tell you to stay away, you stay the fuck away, do you understand?” Geralt shouted. He never truly lashed out on him like this before. He hissed and snarled, but now his eyes were glowing bright amber, his bloody face was twisted with anger, and Jaskier now understands why some folks called him a wolf.

“It wouldn’t be your fault if I die Geralt I chose to follow you and...” The bard’s voice was powerless as he spoke, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take his eyes off those yellow feline orbs. Geralt was front of him again in two long steps, and he grabbed Jaskier by his collar, pulling him up on his legs, nearly lifting him off the ground. Jaskier yelped, and his fingers dig into Geralt’s arms as they shared breath for a second.

“I don’t need the guilt of your death to haunt me until I die, so when I tell you to stay out of it, you do that.” The mutant growled so low it was more like a rumble than actual words, and Jaskier was so messed up by this whole night he almost missed what Geralt just said. Blue teary eyes widened as he stared up to Geralt, feeling his air on his cheeks, and the witcher must have only realised what he said because he pushed Jaskier away firmly and stormed away to gather his torn cloak. Jaskier was blinking at the man’s road back with his mouth slightly open as his brain was digesting Geralt’s earlier words. The guilt of his death, he said. He would feel guilt, even though Jaskier decided to chase the other and risk his own life. Why would Geralt blame himself for... Well, fuck that!

“Are you out of your mind?” Jaskier found his voice finally, and even as the witcher turned around slowly with a murderous glare, the poet puffed out his chest and pointed an accusing finger towards the other. “Do you think I would not care if you die? Huh? Do you think I would just move on and find another witcher to follow? Geralt, if you die on a hunt while I’m getting drunk on some bitter ale and enjoying some ladies company, I would never forgive myself for that.” His voice cracked, but he played it off as it was because he was furious, which was right, but he could feel his whole body shivering as well from a more profound and more complicated emotion. “I care about you like it or not. Not as a possible song material but as a human being.”

“I’m not hu...”

“Mutant then.” Jaskier threw his arms up in the air and blow his hair out if his eyes. “Now, can we get back into that bloody village and celebrate my first kill, or are we going to shout with each other until dawn?” He raised his eyebrows and placed his arms on his hips like a mother who just scolded their naughty child and tried to bravely hold Geralt’s glare even if his bottom lip was slightly trembling.

“I need to find the boy. I sent him in the woods when the wywerns woke up.” Geralt grunted and gave Jaskier another dark look as he started to walk towards the trees.

“Don’t worry about that, I ran into the boy while I was looking for you and put him on Roach.” The poet waved his hand carelessly, walking after the witcher who stopped so suddenly it was enough for Jaskier to collide with the man’s broad, muscular back.

“Shit.” Jaskier hissed and reached for his nose to check it was not smashed as the other turned around. “You did that on purpose.” He squinted at the other with a growl who rolled his own yellow eyes with a loud sigh and slapped Jaskier’s hand away from his face mumbling something about how the bard’s nose would be fine if he would stop pinching it.

“Is he safe?” Geralt asked after a minute, and when Jaskier just shrugged, the mutant was snarling at him again like a rabid dog.

“I don’t know, I guess? I put him on Roach and told him to find his father. If something ate him on his way home, it is not my fault.” Jaskier jabbered, and again his hands were on his hips just like a cranky grandmother waiting for her drunken husband to come home late at night. He needs to stop doing this so often.

“Hm.” Geralt grunted and turned to walk back to the town on where he came from, leaving the dead bodies behind them while the small fires around the field already started to die out. Jaskier was following close behind Geralt, who’s hair was shining in the dark forest like it possessed some magic, making it so much easier for the bard to not get lost. The walk back to the village was quiet. Jaskier tried to gather his memories about everything to be able to scribble it down as soon as they were back in the tavern, and it was a lot to go through.

As soon as the trees started to grow thinner, Jaskier was matching his steps with Geralt’s, and he finds himself glancing over to the other more time than he could count it, while the witcher’s face was still spotted with dried blood and was just as unreadable as always. Jaskier’s chest felt warm as he remembered how gutted the other looked when he was holding Jaskier’s face, and he knew it was childish of him, but he couldn’t help himself but crack a smile at the memory. Geralt was worried about him. He did care after all, even if he denied it. That flicker of fear on the witcher's face made Jaskier’s heart squirm, and he was not ashamed of it. It did confuse Geralt a little bit why the bard smelled so happy after being covered in layers of mud, guts, and scabs, but Jaskier was a riddle for him. A walking and talking mystery, but seeing the poet grinning to himself and humming a soft tune, made Geralt loosen up and enjoy Jaskier’s new melody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do stan Jaskier going feral for his himbo!
> 
> If you wanna chat you can find me on twitter
> 
> @doberainbow
> 
> Don't be a stranger!


	3. A gentle brute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier gets jumped by some bandits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyhey people of AO3, 
> 
> another chapter here. 
> 
> Again, please forgive me for my grammar mistakes and typos. I learned english from Dora the Explorer and the b*tch is not good with english punctuation. 
> 
> Also, this chapter contains GRAPHIC violence so please if it triggers you just skippity skip skip!
> 
> TW////
> 
> Attempted Sexual Assault!

It was two days after  _ their _ fight with the wywern, and yes it was  _ their _ fight together as a team. Jaskier corrected Geralt each time to say it was  _ their _ fight. The bard of course was basking in the glory of saving the great White Wolf and slaying a monster rather heroically with one single strike and Geralt let the poet say and sing whatever he wanted about that night, as long as the folks filling up their purses with heavy coins. Jaskier’s new song to Geralt’s surprise was not a battle song, not something with a fast rhythm that makes people dance on their feet and clap along. No, it was a ballad, one of those songs Jaskier writes about heartbreak and love.

The song was making maidens weep as the troubadour chanted the lyrics what he was frantically scribbling down as soon as they came back from their hunt that night. It was... a well-composed song as far as Geralt could tell. He had no ears for music but Jaskier’s passionate voice carried many emotions as the tavern watched him so quietly the mutant was able to hear one and every heartbeat in the room. The bard’s cheeks were flushed red from spinning around and entertaining for too long, but now he was sitting on top of a table, fingers smoothly changing between chords as he sang with his eyes closed. Geralt looked around, all the men were looking at the bard with interest, they were curious how the story ends, how a poet saved a witcher, and all the women looked at Jaskier pretty lustfully. Geralt sighed. Jaskier loved the attention and he was hungry for it no matter who gives it to him and tonight he will feast on this attention until his belly hurt. The bard finished his ballad with a soft tune and as a huge round of applause and cheers shook the walls, he opened his eyes and gave a deep bow with a sly grin on his face. Geralt snorted as two girls giggled not far away from him, whispering rather inappropriate things to each other not taking their eyes off of the bard who was walking between the tables and let the folks fill his pockets with well-earned coins.

There were certain perks of travelling with him Geralt had to admit it. He couldn’t remember when was the last time he had enough money to sleep in a bed and have a warm bath prepared for him many times a week. Jaskier despised sleeping on the icy ground somewhere in the woods or a cave and he was not shy to complain about it at any given moment. He whined and moaned until Geralt couldn’t bear it anymore and they were heading toward any village nearby. Jaskier needed crowd, and Geralt with Roach did not count as an audience for many reasons. For one, Roach was a horse, and even though the witcher was sure the mare appreciated Jaskier’s music more than he did, she was still just an animal. Secondly, no matter how hard Jaskier plead, the silver-haired man never told him what he thought about the bard’s music and it was because of one simple reason; he didn’t think anything about it. The witcher’s heart was cold and made of steel, there was no place for deeper thoughts about art and the beauty of this World. He could hear that Jaskier’s voice was clear and he had a quite impressing vocal range. He could judge how the people reacted to his music so he knew it was well composed, but it didn’t affect him in any way. Sometimes he wondered how it would feel to explore all those emotions he could only smell on the others.

“Geralt these people are so generous I need bigger pockets to keep all these coins somewhere.” Jaskier’s chatter pushed him out of his thoughts as the bard dropped his earned money on the table between them what he carried in his palms. He sat down with a groan pulling the lute off his shoulders and placing it next to Geralt’s swords as he reached for the witcher’s cup to take a large sip of his ale.

“I believe you have earned enough tonight to buy yourself a drink, bard.” Geralt growled at him while snatched back his beverage.

“Yes indeed, but the free ale is always sweeter.” Jaskier grinned at him and reached for Geralt’s pack as it was his own. He was tugging out some empty leather bags to throw all his coins in there from the table. Jaskier was surprisingly considerate when it came to sharing their money. He didn’t count it how much he earned or what was Geralt’s share. As he said, it was theirs, and arguing about money amongst friends was rather barbaric. Even though they were not friends.

“Any job for you in this town?” Asked the poet after clearing the table and took another sip from Geralt’s ale while the witcher just frowned at him.

“Nom but there is in the next one, I heard. Drowners.” He mumbled and Jaskier’s eyes widened, the smell of happiness was washed over with eagerness as he scooted closer to the other, leaning over the table.

“Are they vicious? Where do they live and don’t tell me I cannot come with you, I proved myself to be useful.” Jaskier jabbered and Geralt could feel a headache starting to build at the base of his skull already. “Come on, how should I prepare for battle if I don’t know what I’m facing with?” Geralt rolled his eyes at that and finished his drink before Jaskier could do it for him and slammed the empty cup on the wood.

“Are you changing your professions now, bard?” He raised an eyebrow at the brunet and Jaskier snorted, placing his chin into his palm.

“I might. Ruin your business and keep all the coins and women for myself.” He shrugged and it did curl Geralt’s lips upwards at their corners. Jaskier was an amusing little creature he had to give him that and he had a very clever mouth, too clever for Geralt’s liking, but entertaining nonetheless. “Are we leaving early in the morning then?”

“Hm.”

“Splendid. Then I must look for some company before we head out.” Jaskier stood up, smoothing down his doublet, and looked down at the witcher who was also ready to leave. “Are you going to sleep already?” Jaskier was blinking with disbelieve and Geralt handed him his lute from the ground.

“Long day tomorrow.” The mutant said gruffly and didn’t miss the small disappointed scowl on the other’s young face.

“Well, as you wish. I will see you in the morning then, do not leave me behind again Geralt it was not funny the other day.” He poked his finger into the witcher’s chest and the mutant just hissed between his teeth making Jaskier stumble backward. “Whatever. Have a good rest Geralt.”

“Stay out of trouble.” Geralt smirked as he called after the bard and walked upstairs to his room ordering a bath on his way from the man who owned this tavern. Jaskier was watching the witcher leave with a soft smile on his face before he walked over to two blushing ladies.

Geralt’s room was filled with steam as he finished his bath and was now spread out on his bed still dripping and only wearing his breeches. He could still hear the rumble downstairs in the bar, but he was too tired to listen to any of it and his brain successfully shut out all the bothersome noises. Geralt only needed a few minutes to fell asleep still laying wet on the covers.

Jaskier had a terrific night. People loved his new ballad, his pockets weighed more than ever, Geralt seemed to enjoy himself as well, lonely in his dark corner just how he liked it, and Jaskier caught those flirtatious eyes from various ladies which gave him even more reasons to smirk. He wished the witcher would have stayed a little bit longer to chat but he knew how much the silver-haired man despised crowds and people in general. Jaskier finished his third cup of wine and had two lovely girls by his side not long after the witcher returned to his room for the night.

“He is terrifying.” Stated one of the girls, a busty blonde with emerald eyes, and she adorably grimaced as Jaskier mentioned the witcher.

“He can be intimidating at first, but he is a great man. The greatest I have ever met.” He stated as he remembered their first adventure together in Posada and how stunned he was when Geralt let Filavandrel and his men escape with all of the witcher’s money. He still could feel that hard beating of his heart in his chest and the rush of anger when he first realized how wrong people were about the Butcher of Blaviken. How misjudged Geralt truly was after saving human lives day by day.

“Is he though? A man I mean. He is more like a... beast.” Stuttered the other girl, a redhead and as Jaskier looked at her face, he had to admit it, stupidity and ignorance were making him lose interest quite fast.

“Now now ladies, Geralt of Rivia is nothing but heroic and one of my very best friends.” Only friend, he added inside his head as he placed his palms on the girl’s thighs smoothly earning some giggles from the females. “But let’s not talk about him anymore, shall we? What are you two vixens doing here to kill some time these days?” He whispered to them with a mischievous smirk and the two maidens exchanged a quick look before leaned closer to Jaskier’s ears to answer his question.

The day could not become any better than this.

A couple of hours later Jaskier was wondering back to the tavern on the quiet streets of this small town alone and absolutely sobered up. His body was drained but his mind was racing. What a night! He couldn’t help but chuckle as he tried to smooth down his chaotically disheveled hair and fix his messy clothes. Those two girls were rather fond of the idea of him spending the whole evening in a bed with them, but unfortunately, he must catch some sleep if he wants to accompany Geralt on his next hunt.

What a sacrifice it was. He was humming some old melodies as he walked past the barn where Roach was and peeked inside to see the mare chewing on a bucket of hay. Sometimes he checked up on the mare without telling Geralt. The horse was hastily becoming Jaskier’s best friend and as pathetic as it sounded, he wasn’t ashamed of it. But Geralt didn’t need to know that the bard was spoiling his horse with juicy apples and other goodies. It was their secret.

“Well lads, look who it is.” It was a snarky laugh coming from behind the poet successfully scaring him enough to let out a manly yelp as he spun around fast on his heels. It was three men in disgustingly filthy clothes gawking at him up and down grinning, showing their rotten teeth and making their faces even more hideous.

“Good evening Sirs.” He chirped with a not so convincing smile as one of the men who were standing in the middle, the oldest one from the group stepped closer to him just enough for Jaskier to catch the stench of alcohol and piss oozing from him. Lovely chap. “Can I help you mate?” The bard asked politely and trying to look as friendly as he could, even though Geralt told him once his face was cocky and annoying when he tried this hard to look charming.

“I bet ya can.” Snorted one of the younger men, a ginger one while spitting on the side with a grin.

“Look, guys, I left all my coin in my room which is just next to my friend’s room who happens to be a witcher. You may know him. The Butcher of Blaviken? Big, scary, white hair, carries two swords? So let’s just move along and...” Jaskier did not see the fist coming and punching him in the guts as the oldest of the three had just enough of his rambling. Jaskier bent down, nearly falling to his knees as he coughed and sputtered from the hit. The three men laughed like hyenas as he was trying to calm down his twisting stomach and swallow down the urge to throw up his dinner.

“That...that was a huge mistake.” He wheezed and felt scabrous fingers wrap around his neck making him stand up as the three bandits closed around him, pushing him inside the barn and pinned him against the door. His lungs gave out a miserable squeak as the older man’s fingers tightened around his narrow neck and he knew it right away that he will see bruises on his skin by the morning where that hand held him.

“What do you think how much would the Witcher pay for his friend, bard?” The third man hissed with a lopsided grin as Jaskier’s head was forced upwards and he tried to blink the tears away which were already collecting in the corners of his eyes. 

“D-don’t call me his friend in front of him, it upsets him.” He gasped and with that, he earned another punch this time to his side, and for a second his vision blackened from the pain as he heard and felt one or more of his ribs crack.

“Shut the fuck up.” Spat the ginger and Jaskier even if he wanted to throw some witty comments at them was unable as his teeth were pressed together tightly while his whole body trembled from the beating. It wouldn’t be the first time when he was beaten up by some thieves or criminals. Not the first and most likely not the last, but he was still not used to the pain, and he was sure he could never get used to it nor he wanted to. No, not his first time being jumped at, and he knew they are going to be even more pissed when they will find out he was not lying this time and his pockets are truly empty.

“L-look buddy” He averted his eyes to the oldest of the tree and tried to glare at him as vile and menacing as he could. “you can check my clothes, but as I said I don’t have anything with me. And believe me, if you want to blackmail a Witcher you need more men than these two idiots, try a whole army you arsehole.” He snarled and after a second of silence, he was punched in the throat and kicked in his groin. He was kneeling on the ground now, curved into a ball as he choked and shook from the sudden shock of pain.

“He will not give you any coin just release your miserable, ugly heads from your shoulders even before you would realise he is there.” Jaskier growled and he was kicked over to his side. The hit made him lose his eyesight for a few seconds while one of the men placed his boots on his face and pushed it hard into the dirt. Jaskier wriggled blindly and accidentally knocked over a large bucket of rainwater with his legs. He could feel his clothes soak up the cold water as he squirmed under the foot trying to move away from the rapid kicks which showered him. His vision came back slowly but he was too dizzy and hurt to see anything besides the muddy boots standing around him.

“I told you to shut your mouth bard.” Said the older man who had his foot on his cheek pushing him into the mud and he lifted his leg up just enough to kick Jaskier square in the jaw. The poet's head knocked to the side, his eyes rolled back to his skull as he lost consciousness for a few seconds. His limbs went numb and he was no longer crawling on the ground, he just tried to breathe in and out, and stay awake as he whimpered. He could feel blood fill up his mouth and run down on the side of his face.

“Do you think he is telling the truth?” He heard one of them talk above his quivering body but his vision was still spinning, as he tried hard to get control over his aching body.

“What if he does? The Witcher is not here is he and when he will find his bard, we will be already far away.”

“Then get fuckin’ movin’, he has no money with him is he?” Yes, listen to him, begged Jaskier silently, and wished he could say that out loud but he was unable to let out any other noise than small pained cries. “What a waste it was.” Snarled the ginger man and kicked Jaskier’s ankle. The sharp pain was gut-wrenching Jaskier howled.

“Waste?” Asked the oldest man with a gruff chuckle as he looked down on the poet. Jaskier could distinguish his voice and he felt it when someone kneeled next to him grabbing his chin hard while rough, calloused fingers dig into his skin as his head was turned to look at the man above him. “You know you are not as hideous as your songs boy.” Grinned the man squeezing Jaskier’s jaw even more as he runs his thumb across his split, bloody lips.

“What do you say, lads, should we waste this opportunity or should we have some fun with it might as well.” He leaned closer nosing Jaskier’s temple and breathed in deeply as Jaskier wailed, lacing his shaking fingers around the man’s wrist. He had no power to push his abuser away. It happened too fast and his body was in so much pain he couldn’t even see properly. He heard the other two snickers and a moment later he was lifted from the ground by his doublet only to be turned around and pinned down face-first into the mud. His mouth and eyes were filled with rainwater and wet dirt in mere seconds as he wanted to protest and shout, but fingers were grabbing his hair on the back of his head and pushing him further into the ground.

This is it.

The thought runs across Jaskier’s mind in a flash and he felt cold sweat drench his whole body. No, he was not afraid of getting beaten up by some muggers, no. He had a fair share of fights when he was a kid but this was different. This humiliation and abuse was something he never thought could happen with him ever, and it was too real too fast. He felt his arms being twisted back until he choked on a cry and was sure his shoulders were dislocated from their socket. He sensed as fingers dig into his bruised sides and hips and even though his chest and face were forced into the ground his backside was pulled up until he was on his throbbing knees. He heard them holler and whistle, but it was all numbed by his own blood rushing into his ear and his voice screaming inside his head. He needed to do something. He needed to fight back and run. Run to the tavern. Run to Geralt.

“Tell me, bard, have you ever had a man inside your perky arse?” The older man hovered over him, lifting his head by his thick brown locks chuckling into Jaskier’s ear and biting into his skin just right there. Jaskier felt the man’s breath on his cheek and he nearly gagged. He wanted to say so many things, gods, he never knew what bloodlust was until this very moment. But no, he stayed quiet, he bit on his tongue, swallowed back the curse what tried to burst out of him as he inhaled as much air as he needed to shout one word as loud as possible.

“GERALT!” Jaskier screamed and his head was pinned back immediately into the mud as the three men cruelly laughed at his attempt to call for the witcher. The bard heard his shirt and doublet being ripped on his back and felt those greasy, needy hands tug his clothes up on his torso and run across his flesh, wander along with his spine and shoulder blades. He sobbed without noise and shut his eyes tightly. He tried to move away but each time he was pushed down with more force. His night was turning out so great. Now he fucking regretted not following Geralt up to the rooms they paid for.

Gods, Geralt. Even if Jaskier survives this night, there was no way he could face the witcher after this, he needed to escape, run away before the monster hunter sees him. If he lives until the morning, he thought but sweet Melitele, he didn’t know if he wanted to live after this.

“Isn’t he pretty boys?” Asked the man who was still running his hands all over his back and now grabbing the waist of Jaskier’s trousers dragging it down on his waist. Jaskier sobbed and tried to free his arms to fight back. He couldn’t give up like this even if his body was shivering from pain and he was still choking on mud and his own blood. He needed to do something, anything. Fuck. The three assaulters were now laughing and pushing each other out of the way and Jaskier heard as they reached for their trousers to untie the strings. He wanted to pass out. He can’t be awake while this is happening. “Who wants to go first lads?” Asked the man behind him and Jaskier nearly screamed when his trouser was a few inches away from exposing his rear and he heard on of the man spit into their palm.

“Me.” Came the hoarse voice from further behind and the bard felt as those thick fingers dig deep enough into his flesh to draw out blood as the man’s nails break his skin. Jaskier whimpered at that and he felt something wet and hot splash across his exposed back and all the hands disappeared from his body instantly as the poet fell onto his side with a small weep. His eyes were covered with dirt, he only managed to lift one of his eyelids to peek out under from his eyelashes as he heard something heavy land near his face.

Both of his eyes widened in shock as the oldest bandit’s severed head was rolling on the ground, stopping just far enough from Jaskier so he could see the clear cut on the neck. He cried out with a croaky voice and turned on his back pushing himself up on his elbows as he saw the two other men turning around rapidly and reaching for their daggers by their side. It was too late. It was just two bright flashes of silver, the sound of a blade cutting through the air and both of the men collapsed onto their knees, choking on their own blood, grasping for their neck which was cut open. Jaskier stared at the two bleeding stranger fighting and gasping for air while their body fell over the ground and pale fingers unwrapped from around their necks. His eyes hurt and his vision was clouded but he could saw Geralt stand there in the barn, his dripping sword in his grip and golden eyes locking onto his face. The poet’s aching, bruised shoulders gave up and he fell on his back coughing and barely able to turn his head to the side as he felt his mouth fill with acid and he throws up.

“Jaskier?” Geralt was right there, kneeling by his side, pulling him up to sit as he spat and gagged. Geralt vanished for a second, only to come back with a small wooden bowl filled water in his hands. “Drink.” He lifted it to Jaskier’s lips who greedily did just as Geralt said and cleaned his mouth with the first few sips only to gulp down the rest of it. He choked and coughed a little and Geralt dropped the bowl only to place both of his warm palms on the bard’s dirty cheeks and lift his head up to see his face. “Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice was low and gruff like usual but now it sounded like the gentlest sound the bard ever heard in his life.

“You only call me Jaskier and not bard when I’m in danger or I did something stupid.” He mumbled under his breath still quite disoriented as he blinked up into those impossibly yellow eyes and he felt built up tears start running down on his wounded cheeks. Geralt’s face was as unreadable as ever, although he seemed angry, but he always seemed angry it was just how his face was built, Jaskier thought for a second as the witcher eyes roamed over his bruises with his eyebrows knit together.

“What the fuck happened?” Geralt’s voice was not more than a whisper, but it was so raw and throaty it made the poet shiver.

“I’m crying because I’m happy to see you, you idiot.” Jaskier admitted with a broken laugh even though his jaw hurt like hell from it and Geralt’s eyes were back on his face again with newfound fury. He did not find it funny.

“What happened Jaskier?” He asked again, more like snarled at him this time and the poet couldn’t help but weakly shrug.

“They tried to rob me, then blackmail  _ you _ instead, then fuck me because why not. The usual.” He tried a hesitant smile but his lips and jaw were still throbbing so he just winced as Geralt’s gaze darkened. The wither’s amber irises nearly invisible around his black wide pupils. Those warm, calloused palms left his cheeks, and Jaskier whimpered at the loss in a not so manly way but he was too messed up to care about that.

Geralt shifted his weight and without any further warning he reached under the bard’s knees and lifted him up just as a groom carries his bride and seated Jaskier down on a nearby barrel. Jaskier was only able to blink it happened so fast and he was sitting on the large barrel with his legs dangling down and hands in his lap. The bard only realised now, that Geralt’s broad chest was covered in blood and he was fairly naked as he was only wearing his white breeches. Not so white anymore from the spluttered blood on it, but he was still very underdressed and Jaskier couldn’t wrap his mind around the rush of emotions in his head.

“I’m going to touch you now.” Geralt said gruffly but it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. The witcher, even though he was a brute, still knew how to act around someone when they were in shock. Jaskier wanted to protest. He didn’t want anyone else to touch him today or maybe ever, fuck knows, but as Geralt kneeled front of him and patiently waited for his response trying hard to be nice and gentle for him Jaskier felt his heart clench. The poet nodded faintly and Geralt watched him for a few more seconds before he moved his arms slowly to touch the brunet.

Jaskier bit on his lower lip and looked away from the mutant as the other started to run his fingers along his neck and collarbone. Calloused hands from decades of sword-wielding and fighting, and yet, the man’s touch was so tender it made Jaskier shiver. Geralt was checking his shoulders gently, rotating his arms and running his fingers up and down on his skin tracing his bones under his muscles. Geralt’s fingers wrapped around his already bruised wrists, he inhaled sharply as the witcher accidentally touched a darkening mark but was soon soothed with uncharacteristically kind touches. Geralt moved his rough fingertips along Jaskier’s knuckles one by one, following the veins on the musician’s hand as he traced the bard’s fingers and Jaskier was mesmerized. His body starved for this gentle caress after the attack and the witcher now moved closer to place his warm palms over the bard’s sides. Jaskier’s breathing was quickening, he lifted his eyes from Geralt’s hands and now was looking over the mutant’s head. Jaskier felt his cheeks tingle as the witcher was counting his ribs one by one, moving his pale, clever fingers just as he would play on a piano. Geralt moved down on the brunet’s waist and hips and Jaskier felt his mouth getting awfully dry.

Who knew this feral creature what Geralt was could be this thorough and soft with someone like Jaskier. It put a silly smile on his face, how concerned the other was.

“I’m fine Geralt.” The bard croaked it out and earned a disbelieving look from the other.

“No, you’re not.” Geralt grunted at him as he was now holding Jaskier’s right foot between his hands, slowly rotating his ankle to see if it was broken or just bruised.

“I am fine now.” Now you are here. He added it in his head and Geralt let go of his leg letting it hang there, while he was still kneeling in front of the bard. “Thank you for saving me. Again.” Jaskier’s voice was soft, and Geralt just inhaled deeply. The bard was reeking of fear and pain and it was choking him even out here in this stable with horses around them. Geralt’s lungs were protesting against the smell. The poet’s flowery scent was now bitter and rotten and Geralt wanted to scrub it off of his skin until it was just lavender and that earthy smell of Jaskier’s. The bard was still trembling, the shock just catching up with his body. His bruises already getting a purple shade on his milky skin, his jaw and lips are swollen, eyes puffy and red from crying. Geralt wanted to look away but he couldn’t, he wanted to remember to this Jaskier, and feel his guts twist. He will never see him again like this, not if he will stay by his side. He will not let the bard get abused again like this.

“You were sleeping?” Jaskier’s question tore him out of his thoughts and Geralt was really grateful for that before his rage would take over his human side and he does or say something stupid he will regret in the morning.

“Hm.”

“Well thank fuck for those witchery ears then.” Jaskier sighed and now was staring down on his dirty hands, picking his fingernails as he fidgeted, lips in a pout. “I’m sorry I wake you up.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Geralt growled and the bard’s eyes peaked at him from under heavy, dark eyelashes. “Fuck.” Mumbled Geralt and groaned a second alter. He didn’t mean to snap on the other, even if Jaskier was indeed being stupid by thinking his sleep was more important than him being ravaged by some thieves.

“We need to clean your wounds.” He said and Jaskier only nods as an answer. Fuck again. Geralt was not good at comforting anyone, he didn’t do gentle and careful, he was built to break and destroy, he was lost when he had to take care of someone and here he was. He felt like he was holding a broken bird in his palms and he tried so hard not to crash it but couldn’t hold back his strength. Well, he needs to let his actions speak for themselves because he was damn sure he will make a fool of himself if he starts talking. Geralt reached for Jaskier’s legs again to lift him up but the bard quickly moved back with a palm on the witcher’s chest.

“W-wait.” Jaskier stuttered, not looking at the other’s eyes, but instead staring at his fingers where he was touching the mutant’s skin. He always thought he was pale, but seeing his hand on Geralt’s naked chest made him realise how white the witcher’s skin is comparing to his own. “My legs are fine, I can walk.” He managed to say it out loud without getting too flustered and Geralt watched silently as he scooted on the side of the barrel to stand on his trembling legs. It’s not going to end well, Geralt thought, getting up from his knees staying close to the other.

“You are not fine. I will carry you in your room before you fell over and your cracked ribs poke out one of your lungs.” He frowned at the other who just grimaced at the thought of choking to death on his way up to the bed, but then he shook his head and looked up to Geralt.

“I’m not going to fell over. Let me keep some of my dignity, Witcher.” He asked rolling his eyes at the other but Geralt stopped him again with his palms on the bard’s shoulder. Fuck his stubbornness.

“I didn’t know you had any, to begin with.” He teased with a small smile and Jaskier gaped at him for a second before snorting and hiding his grin as he dropped his head again.

“Alright, but you better be sneaky, I don’t want anyone to see me getting carried by you like some... some...”

“Paid whore?” Asked the witcher with a smirk and Jaskier mouth was now hanging wide open again, staring at the other absolutely baffled by his rudeness.

“Like a damsel in distress, you arse.” He slapped Geralt’s arm and tried to gather all his energy to look utterly insulted. He ended up looking like a child who was scolded by his teacher, Geralt thought. “Unbelievable.” Mumbled Jaskier and Geralt bit back a laugh as he reached under the bard to scoop him up carefully not to hurt the other in any way. Jaskier’s arms came to snake around his shoulders and even though the other tried to drop his head as down as he could, Geralt still saw the flush on the poet’s cheeks running down on his neck. He could feel Jaskier’s skin getting warmer, and his heart beating rapidly under his ribs.

“If you drop me, I will break my lute on your head.” He stated quietly and Geralt grunted something like  _ sure _ under his nose as he walked out of the stable. The inn was quiet. It was the middle of the night, and everyone already returned to their rooms. Geralt was carrying Jaskier up the stairs noiselessly, the only sound was coming from the bard’s loudly thumping heart, and occasionally hisses when he breathed in too deeply and pain zigzagged through his abused body. Geralt walked past Jaskier’s room and the other already opened his mouth to protest when the witcher pushed his door open with his foot.

“I still have the bathwater. It’s cold now, but enough to wash the blood off.” The witcher explained and Jaskier shut his mouth with a loud snap as Geralt locked the door behind them, not even breaking a sweat while he carried Jaskier’s whole body weight with one single arm and that thought made the bard hot under his collar. Thank the gods Geralt put him down on his bed and quickly turned around to bring a small stool. Jaskier was peaking up, in the dimly lit room as Geralt walked around inaudibly. He could feel the skin on his side prickle where he was touching Geralt and with a small nod of his head, he decided to ignore the feeling until he has a clear mind to freak out about it.

Jaskier was sitting on the edge of Geralt’s bed as the other was seated on a three-legged chair front of him, squeezing a wet towel above the hand washing bowl he filled it up with lukewarm water. Jaskier was lifting his hand for Geralt to give him the towel but the mutant completely ignored him and cupped Jaskier’s now swollen jaw in his left palm to carefully wipe down his forehead like he was just washing Roach. Jaskier was blinking at him, couldn’t help but stare at the other man who was frowning like how he usually did.

“You surprise me every day.” The bard whispered softly with a smile and Geralt freeze for a second under his blue gaze and then like nothing happened continued to clean down Jaskier’s eyebrows and the bridge of his nose, slowly wiping away all the dirt and blood.

“Why is that?” Geralt asked as he rinsed out the cloth and then moved back to clean Jaskier’s cheeks, still holding the bard’s face even though they both know he didn’t need to do that, the poet will not move away.

“You always tell me you are a monster, a brute, but now I only see kindness and humanity.” Jaskier smiled with chapped lips and for a second Geralt’s amber eyes were locking with his own then the witcher gave out a long sigh and looked away.

“They hit your head pretty hard, bard. You are talking nonsense.” Geralt rumbled in that harsh voice of his and the poet just chuckled. He was the one who was talking nonsense, huh?

“And we are back to bard again.” He pointed it out and Geralt frowned deeper. Yes, he did not call Jaskier by his name on purpose because he didn’t want the other to get attached, but when the brunet was in danger it may have slipped through his defense and he called out Jaskier’s name. He was surprised the poet even realised his mistake.

“Does it matter if I call you by your given name or not?” He asked and Jaskier’s smile widened into a grin as he watched the other clean his palm’s and between his fingers like it was some holy task.

“I would be surprised if you would even know my given name witcher. Jaskier is not the name I was born with.” Geralt looked up at the bard who was smiling at him still with so much fondness in his eyes it made the mutant look away and get uneasy in his own body. He could smell how Jaskier relaxed under his touch as he slowly washed off the stench of the bandits and fear and he started to breathe in that faint flowery scent again. He could feel Jaskier’s heart slowing down only to jump occasionally when Geralt cleaned his wounds.

“What is your given name then?” The mutant asked after all, not because he wanted to know, no, it really didn’t matter what was the bard’s given name. He asked because he knew it would make the other happy that he cared enough to ask. He was of course right, he could already smell the waves of joy coming out of Jaskier.

“Julian.” Jaskier murmured and Geralt stopped as he was scrubbing the bard’s right arm and he throws the towel back into the bowl as he closed his fingers around Jaskier’s palm and shake his hand firmly. It was dumb.

“I’m glad I could save your arse tonight Julian.” He rumbled, feeling rather silly by the gesture but as soon as Jaskier’s dizzy mind caught up with him there was a full-body laugh shaking the bard and probably waking up many of the quests in the nearby rooms.

“You are very welcome, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier giggled, shaking the witcher’s hand and Geralt let out a snort as he let go of Jaskier’s palm and went back to wiping down the other’s skin.

Jaskier observed the other as Geralt methodically washed him off like he was some virgin sacrifice to some barbaric gods, and he couldn’t help the buzzing feeling which started in his chest and now was spreading all over his body as he watched the silver-haired man. The way his fingers moved on his skin, the way his veins on his forearm were visible from years and years of sword-wielding and hard work. The fact that he was still covered in blood but didn’t give a damn about it. Those couple of locks of white hair that escaped his hair tie and now were falling over his face caressing his pale cheeks. The fact that Geralt’s eyelashes were curly and dark. The way the witcher’s eyes lifted to his face when he finished cleaning him and Jaskier's heart was beating in his throat. Fuck.

“Get some sleep. Lay on your back, rest your ribs as much as you can.” Geralt said in his deep voice what others would find disturbing but for him it meant safety. The witcher stood up, but Jaskier was too lost in his own thoughts to say anything until the man walked to the candles and blow them out leaving them in the moonlight. Geralt just stood there staring at Jaskier and he knew he should say something comforting. Just shout if you need me or are you going to be fine or...

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was not more than a breathy whisper, but it was enough to stop Geralt’s clumsy attend to figure it out how to be nice with people.

“Hm?”

“Can you stay?” He knew Jaskier couldn’t see him in the dark, and he also knows that the bard knew he was able to see in the blackness so when the brunet mumbled that question, Geralt was sure the bard will give him that pleading look he always gave Geralt when he wanted something. But now, now Jaskier’s head was still lowered and he was still staring at his own hands even if he couldn’t see them. The bard’s scent was all mashed, fear now barely there, but still giving a sour undertone. The pain was sharp in the air and that flowery smell of happiness. But then Geralt sniffed again, and there was something he never caught around Jaskier before. It was sweet, like burned sugar.

Like caramel.

Geralt couldn’t identify the emotion behind the sugary scent, he never met anything like it before. He didn’t recall if Jaskier ever smelled like this sweet since he knows him.

“Hm.” Geralt grunted and was already walking over to the bed where Jaskier was slowly climbing under the blanket, laying on his back. At least the poet listened and took his advice for once.

“Are you still covered in blood?” Jaskier’s voice wasn’t concerned but more like cheeky, and Geralt was considering to just stand up and walk out of the room.

“You have a problem with that?” His voice was defensive and throaty, and he turned his head to look at the bard who had his eyes closed and lips curving upwards.

“Not even the slightest.” Jaskier grinned and Geralt slipped under the blanket as well.

“Hm.”

“Good night.” Jaskier yawned and quickly realised it a stupid thing to do as he painfully groaned. “Fuck.” The bard hissed and could feel how the bed was dipping under Geralt’s body, and the thought of the witcher being just an arm's length away was making him smile like an idiot.

Geralt inhaled the sweet scent again, letting his lungs being filled up with it and closed his eyes as he heard Jaskier’s heartbeat slow down and his breathing getting quiet as he quickly fell asleep. Geralt followed not far behind him, his hazy mind was filled with cornflower fields and the mutant would swear he tasted caramel on his tongue when he dozed off, into the dreamless darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Gentle Geralt joined the groupchat*
> 
> I hope you guys liked it.
> 
> If you want to you can find me on twitter  
> @doberainbow
> 
> Feel free to say hi and don't forget to wash your hands!!
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Don't poke the bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after Jaskier was attacked and Geralt being, well Geralt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people of this fine website, 
> 
> New chapter here!
> 
> Again sorry about my english, please try to ignore the mistakes and enjoy the show.
> 
> PS: Geralt being a little shite is CANON! Jaskier being a disaster is also CANON!

Geralt has always been a light sleeper since he can remember. The fact that he was always in danger probably somehow helped. His senses slowly sharpened from their slumber as he was awakening but he never really shut them off. There were no dreams he was still chasing or pictures in his head he was trying to hold onto. Witchers don’t dream. Nobody knows if it was another side effect of their mutation or it was just the lack of emotions and constant weariness. Geralt did not miss having dreams. He remembered the few occasions when he was still a young boy and had nightmares. He could only imagine what kind of terrors he would see in his dreams now since he knows every demonic creature on this rotten Continent. He was glad he couldn’t dream.

Geralt blinked his eyes open slowly. He was laying on his back as he looked around the small room which now was dressed in orange from the sunrise peeking through the stained curtains if you can call them that. He could feel the dried blood on his chest and the uncomfortable feeling on his skin bothered him less than it should. He sighed deeply and when something flowery sneaked into his nose his whole body freeze on the mattress. He forgot about Jaskier. How the fuck did he forget Jaskier?

He was peeking to the side to see the bard soundlessly sleep next to him, and when he said next to him, he meant right by his side. His eyebrows moved into a frown as he watched the poet’s messy hair lay across the bedsheet. He was not sleeping on his pillow, no. He was snuggled next to Geralt, curled into a pretzel, tightly, while his one arm was hooked around the witcher’s upper arm. Geralt’s lips were pursed in a narrow line as he glared at the other. How didn’t he wake up to this? He usually woke up to a bird flying above the tavern’s roof too closely but he slept through how Jaskier managed to worm his way across the bed and curl his arm around him?

Geralt huffed. His head dropped back to his pillow and turned on the side for a better view. The bard was still out of it. Geralt could hear his slow heartbeats and see the rise and fall of his chest. His lips were slightly open as he rested but he was not snoring, no, for once in his life the poet was completely silent. Geralt heard the bard mumble in his sleep many times, waking the mutant up in the middle of the night until the witcher threw something at the bard across their camp to make Jaskier shut up. It usually worked, and the poet was just a confused mess in the morning trying to figure out how Geralt’s glove ended up where he slept. But now Jaskier was quiet, his body was probably exhausted from the beating he got last night.

The bruises got darker on his pale flesh during the night. Geralt could easily count them now where his skin was peeking out of the blanket. His face was painted with black and yellow marks around his eyes, cheekbones, and on the right side of his jaw. His neck, as much as Geralt could see, had red marks on it in the shape of strong fingers. It made him grind his teeth without even knowing. Now as he looked down on the bard, he wished he would have taken his time with the three men last night and not bless them with an easy and quick death. Jaskier was annoying, of course, he knew that from first hand. A young, loud-mouthed, obnoxious artist who just seemed to attract trouble and make it even worst with his endless blather, but he was a good kid.

The brunet wouldn’t hurt a fly, only if his or apparently Geralt’s life was in danger. He was bright even the blind could see that. His songs were quite famous now because of their smart lines and bold remarks. And he was easy on the eye. Yes, Geralt was well aware of how popular the other was amongst women from all ages and he could always see the jealous looks the bard got from men when Jaskier danced and flirt across the taverns. That’s why it was hard to wrap his mind around how could anyone attack the troubadour, of course, Jaskier could be rather irritating but even the witcher felt that he has to protect him no matter what. Jaskier just had that effect on everyone. Geralt was watching as the other stirred in his sleep, slender fingers dig into his bicep strongly as the brunet moved closer, seeking for the mutant’s body heat unconsciously. Geralt didn’t understand many things in this world, and one of them was how cruel humans could really be to each-others. What possessed those bandits to hurt the bard who was as harmless as a hungry kitten.

Geralt was deep in his thoughts when he heard Jaskier’s heartbeat jump and his eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks as he woke up with a shiver. The witcher turned his eyes back to the ceiling as he felt the poet slowly being aware of his surroundings and starting to move.

Jaskier's head was thumping loudly, like if someone spent the whole night hitting his skull with drumsticks. His throat was dry and painful and he could feel his lips sting as he licked over them. Oh yeah, he got nearly killed last night. How easy it was to forget it for a sweet second. His eyes snapped open and the first thing he saw was his own fingers and whole arm twisting around something thick and rock solid. Oh, gods. Jaskier jumped back on the bed fingers letting Geralt’s arm go, leaving white marks on his skin reminding the bard how hard he was holding onto the other witcher. The movement was way too hastily for his aching and bruised body and all his senses came back with a kick making him wince.

“Morning.” Geralt hoarse, sleepy voice made him yelp as he averted his eyes to the witcher’s face who was staring at him with a small twitch on the corner of his mouth. Bastard.

“G-good morning. Did you sleep well?” Jaskier chirped trying hard not to show how fucking embarrassed he was as Geralt sit up slowly glancing down on his arm what Jaskier was grabbing just a second ago and slowly raised his eyes up to meet the nervous blue orbs. “Sorry about that, I did not mean to... to...”

“Cuddle?” Helped Geralt with one raised silver eyebrow and he could see the deep pink colour slide down from his cheeks to the bard’s neck.

“Yes. That. Cuddle. I apologize for that.” Jaskier swallowed running his fingers through his bird nest of a hair and watched as Geralt just shrugged his shoulders. “Y-yeah, what is an accidental snuggle between friends, right?” He asked with a not so convincing smile and the witcher just hummed as a response slowly getting out of the bed. Jaskier was too slow to look away and not let his eyes travel on the broad expanse of Geralt’s back as the other stretched his arms above his head, clicking and twisting his spine with a groan.

“So, are we leaving soon? Should I order some breakfast? Do you want something to eat? Of course, you do. I will just go and grab my... my clothes and talk with the innkeeper.” Jaskier was babbling, he knew it damn well, but he always did when he was edgy, and now, he was definitely jumpy for more than one reason. He climbed out of the bed, nearly falling over as his blanket wrapped around his ankles and stumble a couple of steps. Geralt watched him amused, he could smell Jaskier’s scent change in the air as he grew frustrated with himself and he finds it delightful. Jaskier always seemed so smooth and charming and now as he tried to shake off the blanket of his slender leg while hopping on the other, was reminding Geralt of a newborn deer.

“Bard?” Geralt’s voice was harsh, not in a rude way but only because it was still too early. Jaskier stopped halfway across the room and looked over his shoulder to see the witcher already walking towards him. The brunet turned to face Geralt who didn’t even look at him before he slipped his warm palm under Jaskier’s shirt.

“Oh g-gods, what the bloody fuck Geralt?” Shrieked the poet and pushed away from the mutant’s arms. The witcher just knit his eyebrows together as Jaskier was closing his arms around himself like he was some maiden clutching onto her smallclothes. “What are you doing?”

“I need to see your ribs.” Geralt spoke so like it was so obvious why he wanted to suddenly touch Jaskier. The bard just blinked at him and the witcher could already smell that sweet, sugary smell on him again when the brunet just licked his bottom lip and dropped his arms next to his body.

“Then you can just say that the next time. You don’t have to come here a-and rip my clothes off.” Jaskier mumbled and the mutant had a serious frown on his face as he glared at him. “Well? Do you want me to undress or…” Jaskier threw his arms in the air and winced when his side started the ache.

“No.” Geralt grunted and stepped closer again. The bard’s breathing became faster and he turned his head away, looking at something on the wall when the witcher lifted his shirt and placed his palms on his stomach. Jaskier shivered and Geralt looked up to his face to see if he hurt the poet. The brunet’s cheeks were red, his whole face was flaming and Geralt scowled as he felt him heat up under his fingers. “Do you have a fever?” He asked quietly and Jaskier just blinked a few times before he looked up at the silver-haired man.

“W-what? No. I’m fine just… I’m hungry.” The bard murmured and Geralt kept just staring at him, the caramel scent was so heavy in the air the witcher could nearly taste it on his tongue. “Are they cracked?” Jaskier asked when the staring became too intense and he started to run out of breath.

“Hm. Only one.” Geralt grunted and the brunet immediately stepped away and smoothed down his shirt.

“Well, that good news right? It could be better though. The pain is not so bad. Anyway. I… uh I will go grab some breakfast. T-thank you for the-the this thing. You would be a brilliant healer Geralt truly. Your hands are-are really warm and…khm, I uh I will go to the kitchen.” Jaskier practically bolted out of their room and shut the door way too loudly as he finally escaped. His heart was hammering in his chest, he could feel his cheeks burning and wanted to scream into his palms. What the bloody hell was that nonsense? Jaskier cringed as he was walking into his own room pulling any clothes on himself he could find first in his pack not caring about how well they matched, and dragged up his other pair of boots he owned as the one he wore last night were still covered in dirt and blood.

He was walking down the stairs, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt still cursing in his head.

“What the fuck was I thinking? Stay! Stay? Yeah, let me spend the night hugging you like some bar maiden fallen in love. Melitele’s tits.” Jaskier mumbled as he reached the bar and looked up from his sleeves only to see nobody there. The bard peeked into the kitchen and every corner of the tavern but there was no one. He was walking outside when he heard some noises and as soon as he opened the heavy door there was an accused finger pointed into his face and a furious barkeeper pushed him against the wall.

Geralt washed off himself with the cold water and dressed as he heard soft footsteps from downstairs. He didn’t care enough to pay attention it was probably just Jaskier ordering their food. The witcher was gathering around his belongings and tying his armour over his black tunic. He was pulling his pack over his shoulder looking around once more in the room to make sure he is not leaving anything behind. The witcher closed the door behind himself when the first shout came thundering between the walls of the tavern.

“You! You did this! My stable is covered in blood and there is three dead men in there, bard!”

Oh yeah. That. Geralt sighed as he walked down the stairs to see Jaskier being pushed against the open door by the angry man. The poet’s palms were on the older man’s chest as he tried to keep him away with zero to none success.

“I can assure you I have nothing to do with that, kind Sir. I do not carry any weapons with me I’m just...”

“Then how do you explain your face? Huh?” The man was holding on Jaskier’s collars and the bard just gaped at him trying to find an excuse as Geralt decided has seen enough and dropped his bag on the floor loudly, winning the attention of both men in the doorway.

“G-Geralt, have you heard about what happened last night?” Jaskier started with a forced smile but it was enough for the elderly man to let the bard go and take a good look long at the witcher.

“You Witcher, you did that? You killed those men?” Spat the man and Geralt looked at Jaskier who just shook his head slightly behind the owner with a pleading look on his face and the mutant frowned.

“I have no idea what are you talking about.” He said with so much disinterest in his voice Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes and the old man’s face become a darker shade of red from fury.

“I’m talking about that three dead men who were slain in my stable like they were common pigs for slaughter. I know your kind, Butcher. I know what you are. I know what you do in towns like this.” Jaskier eyes widened as the owner hissed at the mutant. Fuck. He knew it by now how much Geralt hated that cruel name they gave him in Blaviken, and he knew it very well how the silver-haired man will react to that. He already opened his mouth to protest but Geralt was faster this time.

“If you know me so well, then you know how I returned to my room early last night. Let the bard go, we have nothing to do with your folks murdering each other in this shithole.” Geralt's voice wasn’t as threatening as Jaskier thought it will be, but the way the other’s amber eyes were darkening he knew how much it was hurting Geralt when someone called him a butcher or a murderer.

“Yeah? Then how do you explain his mug? He wasn’t beaten up last night, was he?” The older man motioned towards Jaskier’s face and the two of them exchanged a quick look before the bard opened his lips to answer.

“W-well you see last night I was...” Jaskier started looking down on the man with a blinding smile, trying his hardest to be charming not even paying attention to Geralt who walked over to them with a sigh.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business.” Geralt’s voice was now deeper as he interrupted the poet and stood next to them. He could smell the fear oozing out of the older man as soon as he was standing close enough to be able to break his neck in a swift motion if he wanted to. But he didn’t of course, that would be something a butcher would do. Jaskier’s mouth was still open as he quirked an eyebrow at Geralt who without any warning or further explanation leaned closer to the bard and pulled him to his side by wrapping one thick arm around Jaskier’s narrow hips. Jaskier lost his footing by the sudden tug and he had to hold onto Geralt’s chest to not crush into him.

The bard could feel his breath trap in his throat as the mutant palmed his bony hip and felt his fingers gently dig into his skin. He looked up at the other who was still just glaring at the old man and Jaskier felt his eyes widen as Geralt stoic face turned to him and showed a fond smile. “I gave him these marks.” The witcher’s voice was nothing but a rumble. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s body resonate under his palms as the other just said those words and looked absolutely pleased with himself.

“Y-you?” The elderly man sputtered, making Jaskier realise what was happening around them. Geralt’s golden eyes left his face and the bard could feel how he was able to breathe in again, not much, just a shallow hiccup all it was, but there was air floating into his lungs at least. The bard could tell that his face was flaming, and he was sure Geralt could feel the tension in his muscles and see his bottom lip tremble even if the poet tried to hide it and bit on it.

“Yes.” Geralt shrugged, scowling at the other man than to Jaskier’s misery he looked back at him and the poet was not quick enough to move away before the witcher’s fingers hooked under his chin to lift his head and capture those sky-blue eyes. Jaskier was stunned, his face was so close to the other’s like never before and he was sure his knees would give out in any given moment and let him collapse as a pile of shaking skin and bone he was. But no, Geralt was holding his hip tightly, not letting him squirm away as he holds Jaskier’s chin and looked over his face like he could not get enough of the sight. It was only a blink of an eye how Geralt mouth tugged into a smug smirk before he spoke, but Jaskier saw it.

“He likes it hard.” Geralt grunted and the bard saw his life flash before his eyes. In his short life, Jaskier could count on one of his hands how many times he was astonished so much he forgot to breathe. Most of them happened because of something Geralt said or did, and this occasion was not any different. Except for the fact that this was absolutely different. Never in his nineteen years while he walked this Earth he thought four simple words would affect him this much. Four roughly whispered words from his friend and his brain just blackened out. His head was a mush inside, thoughts and commands not coming, not helping him as he stood there gaping at Geralt who just looked back down at him with those amber eyes and his stupid perfect face and Jaskier could do absolutely nothing. He was not moving any closer or further away. He was unable to form any response or any noise. No. He was utterly confused.

“Right, Love?” Geralt's voice came again with a small caress of his thumb on the bard’s cheek and Jaskier’s lungs gave a miserable mewl at that name. He felt his spine vanish, dust away as his whole body trembled from the words of the silver-haired man.

“Enough of this. Get your belongings Witcher and leave this village with your whore and never return.” The man spat with so much disgust in his voice it tore out Jaskier from his trance and he blinked once, twice to hush the spell away what fell on him. Geralt’s fingers left his skin quickly as he stepped back and Jaskier was still too fazed to stop the other when the mutant grabbed the innkeeper by his coat and lifted him up in the air with a hiss.

“I may have not killed those men but don’t you forget who you are talking to and what I am capable of.” Geralt snarled and Jaskier finally caught up with his doughy brain to move next to the mutant and wrap his fingers around his arm. The owner’s legs were kicking and dangling in the air, his face turning from angry red to a scary purple colour as he clawed at Geralt’s leather armour, wailing as he was trying to breathe.

“Geralt, D-darling.” Jaskier’s voice was quiet, shaky as he tried to catch the other’s attention. The affectionate name not foreign on his tongue, he calls every fine lady as various lovely things, but as soon as those yellow eyes snapped at him he felt goosebumps all over his skin. “Let him go. Please.” He smiled softly and Geralt huffed, dropping the man immediately on his feet, who stumbled a few steps and fell on his arse with a whimper.

“Get out! Get out of here!” The man screamed raggedy, clutching his neck as he crawled away on the floor. Geralt’s eyes were fiery and he was growling, but in a second he straightened up and blinked down to Jaskier with his usual bored look like if nothing just happened.

“Go get your stuff, I will bring Roach.” His voice went back to its normal raspy tone without the sharpness of wrath as Geralt turned around to grab his bag from the floor and walk out of the tavern towards the stalls where Roach was. Jaskier was looking after him still hazy from Geralt’s touch and words but with a shake of his head, he ran upstairs to collect all his belongings and race back down in a minute to see the old man still on his backside glaring up at him.

“Thank you for everything, we had a truly great time in this fine establishment. I hope there will be no hard feelings towards my... uhm partner. He is rather possessive.”

“Bard!” Geralt’s shout made the man on the floor shiver and Jaskier just grinned at him again.

“Farewell good Sir, I hope you will find the people who caused the madness in your stable, but if you ask me, this World becomes a place without them.” The poet waved at the man as he turned on his heels and sprinted towards Geralt who was watching him with a frown as usual. Jaskier stood in front of the witcher with a toothy grin and Geralt gave him a once over before started marching away pulling the mare behind himself.

Jaskier was quiet. He didn’t want to say anything until they were out of this town for good, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Geralt’s back. He was nipping his lips, as his mind raced, and once when they reached the forest he jogged next to the witcher and started walking backward to fully see the silver-haired man’s face.

“Well, that was some great acting back there from you Geralt. I never thought you have a talent for lying so blatantly.” He grinned and the mutant just rolled his eyes as Jaskier walked now in front of him not taking his bright eyes off the mutant. “What gave you the idea to do... do this.” The brunet gestured in the air with his hand between the two of them and Geralt scowled deeper.

“How else would you explain your bruises?” Geralt spoke and Jaskier has billion other ideas on how to explain his swollen face but the fact that the witcher thought about them being lovers was so brilliant he didn’t want to argue too harshly.

“Well... you could have said that  _ you _ beat me up.” He shrugged still not looking where he was walking, annoying Geralt to no end with it because the witcher knew if Jaskier stumbles and falls he will be the one who has to carry the troubadour’s scrawny arse until they reach the nearest town.

“Hm. Next time I will just say that.” Jaskier laughed as Geralt mumbled and finally turned back on his heels.

Geralt didn’t know why he said those things in the tavern. It seemed like a good idea to get the owner off of their backs and make the bard gape like a fish for the first time since he met him. He decided he liked Jaskier when he was so baffled he couldn’t form any snarky response and it was a good look on the bard. Mouth wide open, eyes glistering from disbelieving and cheeks red from shame.

What?

Geralt shook his head. What the fuck was he thinking about? He growled as he watched the poet prance just a few meters ahead of him strumming on his lute, softly humming to himself. He needed to get away from the bard, he already spent too much time with him as it is, and he was constantly near him since last night. He couldn’t wait until they reach the next village and he could tell Jaskier to stay put as he deals with the drowner’s nest. He needed to be alone and clear his mind and lungs as the poet’s flowery scent was now deep inside his pores. He could smell Jaskier on his own skin. Faintly, but it still lingered there. He needed to wash it off or cover it up with something quickly before his senses get too used to it.

“What do you think, should I compose a song about how you defended my honour only to drag it through the mud the next morning?” Jaskier looked over his shoulder with a grin and Geralt gave him the  _ don’t you dare _ look. “Alright, whatever. The folks would love it just so you know. Geralt of Rivia fighting against monsters hiding in human flesh... or something.” Jaskier sighed and started to play a soft melody on the instrument. “Hey Geralt, how long until we reach the next town? My clothes are still soaked in blood, I need to wash them out before the stains can’t be removed.”

Fuck it’s going to be a long walk.

“Geralt? Geralt are you listening?” Jaskier turned around and stopped as the witcher just walked behind him. “What are you thinking about so deeply you can’t answer?” His arms were dramatically placed on his hips and Geralt didn’t even look at him as he walked past the bard.

“I’m thinking about how much faster I would get to the village if I would ride on Roach and leave you behind.” He confessed and there was a loud gasp coming from Jaskier.

“Rude. You know if you would be a gentleman, which you are not, of course, you would let  _ me _ ride on Roach since I am injured and my whole body hurts.” Jaskier said crossing his arms over his chest picking up Geralt’s pace to walk next to him, stealing some looks from the corners of his eyes. Geralt groaned at how theatrical and irritating the other was, and deep down he promised to himself next time if someone will try to beat up the bard, he will stand back and let them get away with a punch or two.

“Don’t tell me I was too hard on you last night bard?” He looked at the other with a smirk and Jaskier bruised face did not disappoint as it flushed to a lovely pink colour.

“Y-you’re a complete arse you know that, Witcher?”

“Hm.”

“Just to let you know, anybody should be grateful who can spend the night with Jaskier the greatest Bard on the Continent. Even you.” He huffed and Geralt raised an eyebrow at that statement.

“The greatest?” He asked and Jaskier rolled his eyes throwing his hair back from where it fell over his blue eyes.

“Well, I will be the greatest one day.” The bard shrugged and pulled his lute over his chest once again. Geralt watched as those slender fingers played along, changing between difficult chords and he couldn’t fight off the smile that was crawling on his face as to how determined the other looked at this very moment even though Jaskier was still flushed from Geralt’s teasing.

“Hm.”

A few hours later Geralt decided they needed a break. Not him or Roach, but Jaskier’s breathing was getting heavier by each step he took and he could see from the tight line of the bard’s eyebrows that he was uncomfortable. He was unusually quiet. He just hissed sometimes and mumbled to himself, while walked front of the witcher. Geralt could see sweat beading on the back of the brunet’s neck as they were wandering under the sun for hours without a stop.

“Let’s get some rest.” Geralt called after Jaskier who just stopped for a second before he clutched his side and hold onto a nearby tree to support his weight.

“Oh thank fuck for that.” He panted slowly, turning his back towards the tree he held onto and dropped on his bottom and stretched his legs straight on the ground. His head was tilted back as he breathed in slowly, still palming his bruised ribs, trying to end the stingy feeling in his lungs. Geralt frowned at him, leaving Roach’s side and walking towards the heaving poet.

“Are you in pain?” He asked and Jaskier peeled open one eyelid to squint up at the witcher who got a halo from the sunlight. The bard smiled at that thought because they both know that Geralt was no angel.

“Well my ribs are aching like a bastard, but I'll live,” Jaskier complained as he shrugged and closed his eyes again to enjoy the warmness on his skin as long as he could. Geralt was still scowling at him. Jaskier smelled like pain and it was sour, he could taste it on the back of his tongue. Why did he not say anything? Jaskier always just moaned when he got too tired or had enough of travelling and just sat down anywhere with a loud thump until Geralt was no longer walking away but resting on the ground just like the poet. That’s how it always been. Geralt gave in sooner or later, he couldn’t listen to the other man’s pleading for too long.

“Why didn’t you tell me you need a break?” Geralt's voice was hoarse and accusing and Jaskier blinked up at him with an unreadable expression on his face, then quickly looked down on his hand which was resting in his lap.

“I know you have a job in the next town so I wanted to be there as soon as possible.” He muttered still staring at his fidgeting fingers and the mutant could feel the muscles in his jaw stiffen.

“Fuck the job.” He growled and Jaskier's eyes were wide and staring back into his face which was clouded with fury.

“L-look I didn’t want to slow you down, alright? It’s fine, I’m all good, we can keep going.” Jaskier rambled and was ready to stand up, pushing himself off the grass but Geralt was too fast as he kneeled next to the brunet’s legs pushing him back against the tree with a firm hand on his chest. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat as Geralt just snarled at him and the poet swallowed down whatever protest wanted to escape his lips as the witcher’s gloved fingers snatched his shirt, pulling it out from the waistline of his trousers to soothe his palm over Jaskier’s bruised skin.

“Oi, Geralt stop.” He tried to move away but the palm on his chest forced him to stay where he was as Geralt lifted his clothes high enough to see the large print on Jaskier’s side. “This is really not necessary.” He huffed and Geralt gave him an annoyed look and Jaskier decided to shut his mouth. Geralt’s fingers were now tapping and circling over his injury and Jaskier breathed in sharply as the mutant poked his ribs. “Careful there, I’m not made of witcher bones, I can actually feel it when you poke me.” He whacked Geralt’s hand away with a loud snap as he tugged down his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest looking up at the other. “Oh stop with that scary face I am absolutely immune to that, thank you very much.”

“I am not trying to scare you Jaskier I’m just...” Geralt bit on his tongue. He just what? Wanted to make sure he is alright? He didn’t want Jaskier to suffer silently? Did he want to help? Geralt moved away quickly, stomping back to Roach and opening his pack which was carefully secured on the mare’s side. He could feel the bard’s eyes on his back and heard the other’s rapid heartbeats.

“I know.” Jaskier’s voice was quiet, more like a whisper and it made Geralt stop at whatever he was doing elbow deep in his bag. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to bother you with whatever this is.” The witcher heard as the other tried to smile through his words but it just made Geralt angrier. He didn’t want Jaskier to apologise, he wants him to be more responsible. He shouldn’t care about him, he shouldn’t... Geralt could feel his sharp teeth break the soft skin of his bottom lip. Fuck.

“Can we just rest for an hour before we move along?” The bard’s voice was back again. Soft and Geralt let out a frustrated sigh, fetching one of his potions out from his pack. He turned back to Jaskier who was still sitting by the tree, his knees pulled up and his fingers crossed over his shins, glancing up at the mutant as he walked to his side.

“One sip, not more than that.” Geralt held up the small bottle and opened it with his teeth offering it to the confused bard. Jaskier reached for the glass jar, fingers running over Geralt’s gloved hand as he took it and sniffed the potion.

“Oh Gods it smells like rotten cabbage, what is this?” Jaskier sneezed, his face turning into a disgusted grimace as he held the bottle away from his face blinking up at the witcher.

“It will help with the pain.” Geralt grumbled and Jaskier’s eyes widened as he glared back to the potion in his grip.

“You made this?”

“Hm.”

“No offense Geralt but your cooking skills are maybe not amongst your finest abilities.” Jaskier joked and Geralt felt a vein pulse wildly in his brain ready to pop in any second.

“Just fucking take a sip.” He barked and Jaskier’s fingers slightly trembled at his tone but he was moving the bottle close to his lips sniffing it once again.

“Are you not going to turn me into some toad, are you?”

“For fuck’s sake.” Geralt snapped, reaching for the bottle to shove it down Jaskier’s throat but the bard just quickly took a sip with a grin on his face which was washed off immediately by the horrid taste of the potion as his whole body shivered.

“Bloody hell.” He shoved the bottle into Geralt’s palm as he coughed and wiped down his lips with the back of his hand. “Son of a whore, next time just let me be in pain.” He groaned and Geralt closed the small bottle with a roll of his eyes. “So when is this magic liqueur going to start working?” The poet asked as Geralt walked back to Roach.

“Not soon enough.”

“Ey, just to let you know I was perfectly fine agonizing quietly before you decided to poison me with that cow’s piss.” Jaskier called after him and Geralt was sure this was the last time he wasted his expensive potions on the bard. “I think you gave me the wrong one, I’m still in pain.” Jaskier whined and Geralt looked over his shoulder to see the other pouting as he pulled up his shirt to see the large bruising on his side.

“You told me in the tavern that it doesn’t hurt.” Geralt said and a second later he could see how the bard rolled his eyes.

“I lied alright? I know you already think I’m pathetic so… whatever. I didn’t want to waste time. Forget it.” The poet huffed and the witcher turned around to snap at him but no words were coming out of his throat. He never thought Jaskier is pathetic. Annoying, yes. Reckless, absolutely. A pain in the arse, of course, but never pathetic. Why would the poet think that Geralt would see him in such a way?

“Why are you carrying something like that anyway?” The brunet asked before the mutant could think of an answer about the issue while he tucked back his shirt into the waistline of his trousers.

“It’s for me.” Geralt answered deeply and Jaskier’s eyes lifted to meet the amber glare.

“For you? Oh, to help when you get injured on a hunt?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier eyes widened again, his mouth was slightly open as well and he ran his tongue over his chapped lips before reaching for his pack pulling out his notebook and a quill. Pathetic he said. Geralt was still baffled about that one word even if it looked like that the bard already forgot it.

“So, so you take this after every kill? I’ve never seen you drink it.” Jaskier asked as he scribbled down something in a hurry and blinked back up to Geralt who just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I only take it if I’m seriously hurt.” Geralt sighed as the bard kept writing and nodding to himself.

“So what’s in it? Besides old boots and death?” Jaskier smirked up at him and Geralt glared back.

“I am not your grandmother to give you recipes for all of my potions, bard. They are for witchers, that’s all you need to know.” Geralt growled and Jaskier’s face instead of turning into a disappointed scowl it lit up like a candle and the mutant winced as he realised his mistake.

“So you have more than one? What are they for? Do you make all of them? Can I see them? Are they all taste as horrible as the other one? Can I...

“No”. Geralt snapped not soon enough as the bard already climbed on his feet and marched over next to him, eyes not leaving his bag as his sticky fingers were already reaching to open up his pack and pull out everything from it. Geralt closed his bag on Jaskier’s hand and the other just yelped as he pulled back his paws, frowning at the witcher.

“No to which question?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows knowing very well that Geralt already forgot what he asked, but the mad expression on the mutant’s features was more entertaining than his usual stoic, unbothered face.

“Can I see them?” He tried again, now with a small innocent smile and maybe he fluttered his eyelashes as well just for good measure, and Geralt scowled deeper, his face darkened with an unhappy huff.

“Do not touch them.” Geralt warned as he decided it’s better if he shows the potions to the bard instead of letting him go through his belongings while he was asleep or not looking. Lesser evil, he thought and opened his pack reaching down to the bottom to pull out various bottles and jars. Jaskier’s eyes widened, he smelled like freshly cut wet grass. Eagerness and curiosity. Geralt was holding his potions in his palm as the poet moved closer eyes racing over the liquids.

“So many. Geralt, you need to tell me everything about these. How did you keep it as a secret for so long?” Jaskier looked up somehow scolding him and Geralt just rolled his eyes. They knew each other for not even two weeks, it wasn’t long at all. Most of humanity would never know how witchers used potions to help themselves killing monsters. It was not something they shared with people. He wasn’t even sure if it was entirely a good idea to give this knowledge to Jaskier, but fuck it, it was already too late to change it.

The bard was silent as he studied the potions and Geralt realised that he was holding back his breath. He heard some rumours about folks saying the witcher’s powers are just fabricated lies and they are not more than common humans with potions to give them strength for a short period of time. He also heard the gossips about potions turning witchers into monsters, giving them some demonic looks and making them lose their mind. Half of it was true, he thought. He saw himself many times under the effect of some of his brewed drinks, he knew how he looked like when his already pale skin turned grey, eyes pitch-black, and dark veins were roaming over his skin like spiderwebs. He only let someone see him in that hideous state once in his life and he could still hear the scream of the child he saved who stared at him for a long second before collapsed on the ground unconsciously.

He remembered asking Vesemir about it when he was younger, and the old witcher only patted him on his back before said to him

“ _ As long as humanity can’t see our true face, we have a chance to make them believe we are not monsters”.  _

Geralt felt his chest tighten from the memory. He watched as Jaskier was now standing closer for a better view, his brown locks falling over his eyes, shielding his face from Geralt who felt himself grew agitated.

“They are beautiful.” He heard the whisper and saw Jaskier glance up for a second with a wide smile and pointed at one of the bottles. “This one looks like the clear sky at midnight when you can see and count the starts, isn’t it?” The glass the bard was looking at was filled with a slowly swirling dark-blue liquid with silver-like dots and spots in it. Geralt stared at it. Beautiful, he said? The mutant never really studied them before. He brews them, bottled them up, and chugged them when he needed, but the witcher never took the time to look at them how the poet was staring at them right now. Geralt was baffled.

“I like this one. This is like melted gold. What is it for?” The silver-haired man could feel the blue eyes on his face as he glanced down to his palm and back up to the bard.

“It helps me meditate.” He said huskily and Jaskier hummed, writing something down in his notebook. Geralt frowned deeper. He wondered why the bard finds something like this so interesting, but again, it was Jaskier, the witcher never met a more complicated human in his long life before. Jaskier was a mystery to him and it frustrated Geralt. Humans usually felt simple things when it came to witchers. Fear, disgust, lust, and hatred mainly. Geralt was used to those things.

Then Jaskier walked into his life, smelling like flowers and freedom, rainwater and sunlight and Geralt could not figure him out. He was lost, and he felt like he was forced into a corner by these honest desires from the bard. Friendship and trust. The mutant had friends, back in Kaer Mohren. Did he trust them? Yes, they saved his life many times and he saved theirs as well. But Jaskier, he was different. He was not travelling with Geralt for protection or the coins he earned. He joined him because this stupid human truly enjoyed his company and Geralt was clueless why.

“What about that one? It looks like snake venom. Is it snake venom?” Jaskier voiced tear him out of his thoughts and Geralt had to blink before he could look at the other. The bard’s face was bright, his eyebrows arched high, waiting for Geralt’s answer or just a puff of air, whatever, he was fine with any response.

“It seals wounds.” He mumbled and Jaskier's mouth fell open before he took some more notes. Geralt moved away, dropping back the bottles in his bag.

“Oi, wait I have more questions.” Jaskier protested reaching for Geralt arms to stop him but the witcher quickly turned around to face the bard.

“How is your side?” He asked quickly as the bard already opened his mouth to spill more questions on him but now the brunet just blinked foolishly as he squeezed his abdomen where the bruise laid.

“Oh.” He gasped from surprise and his blue eyes were gleaming as he got a grin from ear to ear on his face. “Melitele’s tits, I can’t feel anything.” Jaskier laughed, palming his ribs nearly missing it how Geralt’s lips curled up just a teeny bit at their corners before the silver-haired man grabbed the reins hanging down from Roach’s neck. “This is brilliant, Geralt, you need to teach me how to make that potion. Do you know how much coins we could earn if we would sell this? I would be richer than... than...”

“And that is why I didn’t tell you earlier.” Geralt grumbled glaring at the other who was still amazed and got that relieved glister in his eyes.

“I see, whatever, keep your secret recipe for yourself but next time don’t let me suffer all day Geralt. Just so you know, from now on if I just as stub my toe, I will steal some of that magic drink of yours.” Jaskier chuckled and the witcher stiffened. The bard could see his broad shoulders tense up and his jaw clench.

“This is not for humans, bard. I gave you this once but you can’t have more. It’s not safe.” He turned around to look at Jaskier to make him understand he was serious and there was no place for a jokester.

“Alright, don’t worry I won’t touch your secret stash.” The poet shrugged with a puny smile and walked back to where he dropped his bag. Geralt did not mean to snap at the other. But again, he was not good at controlling his emotions, and as he watched the brunet’s shoulders drop and felt his scent change the mutant cursed at himself.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you.” He heard himself say it with a growl, and he very much wanted to slap himself across the face for saying that out loud or just bite onto his tongue but Jaskier already turned around with a quirked eyebrow waiting for him to continue. “Fuck... It can be deadly for humans, even that one sip you took was too much.” He grouched and could not bear that bloody shining glare from to others anymore, so he pulled the reins until Roach was standing between him and the bard’s piercing eyes.

He felt like a fool. Why was he even explaining this to the poet? He didn’t give a toss if he hurts Jaskier’s feelings or not. He was checking the straps on the saddle even though he knows it damn well they were all secured and he didn’t miss the look what the mare gave him while he harshly pulled on the stirrup. Geralt glared at the horse who just flicked her ears at him before seeing Jaskier’s chestnut hair peek out from the other side of the saddle. When did he come over here? Geralt didn’t even hear him. The bard was leaning against the horse, elbows draping over her back as he stared at Geralt with a fond look on his face.

“I am not going to touch your potions, I swear.” He said and Geralt snapped his eyes back at his gloved hands going over the leather straps for the twentieth time. “But now you made me worried. What do you mean even one sip was too much for me? Geralt? Hey, look at me, Witcher! After all this time you poisoned me?” Jaskier's voice was whiny and accusing, he was slapping on the smooth surface of the saddle with his palm demanding Geralt’s attention who just huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Oi, Witcher. Come on.” Jaskier teased his smile breaking his façade as he ducked under Roach’s neck to stand in front of the mutant. “I feel like I have a fever. Look. I’m all flushed. Hey, Geralt you are not looking. Do I have a fever?” Jaskier was stepping into Geralt’s space, his palm on his forehead the other fanning his cheeks while he leaned his back against the horse. “This is it? You poisoned your only true friend Geralt?” He whispered while closing his eyes with a sigh dropping his head back with a choked groan. Geralt frowned deeper at the other’s buffoonery and pushed Jaskier’s shoulders to make him move.

“You will live you fool.” He murmured as the bard stepped away with a chuckle and Geralt hopped into the saddle with ease. Jaskier blinked up at him still grinning and Geralt scowled down at the poet in return. “Good to go?” He asked and Jaskier just nods, his bouncing hair fell into his eyes what he blew away with a single puff of air.

“Lead the way mighty Witcher, the saviour of bards, master of potions.” He bowed with a wink and Geralt sneered at him, nudging Roach into a slow walk. “How long does it take until it wears off?” Jaskier chirped as he wandered behind them.

“Hard to tell.” Geralt shrugged and Jaskier snorted moving next to Roach.

“Well can you try?” He mocked and was utterly entertained when he saw Geralt’s jawline clench and his frown deepen.

“When I drink it, it wears off after an hour.”

“But you are a witcher and you drink the whole bottle am I right?”

“Hm. You only took a sip, but considering that you are just a...” Geralt's voice wandered off as he looked down at the poet with a quirked eyebrow and Jaskier’s eyes widened from the outrage.

“Just a what?” He snapped back, arms again landing on his narrow hips as he puffed out his chest tilting his chin up as he waited, no, dared Geralt to finish his sentence. The witcher couldn’t help the smirk sneaking upon his face. “Come on, Geralt, just a what? A frail human? A powerless mortal? Huh?” He poked Geralt’s thick thigh as he glared at him and the mutant was way too amused how bothered the bard was. His scent was awfully sharp, Geralt could taste it in his mouth and he had to admit it, he liked it.

“Hah? You know not everyone can be built as a... as...” He was gesturing towards Geralt’s whole frame unable to find the words to describe the grinning brute so he just huffed and puffed with a groan. “Whatever. Keep your insults to yourself. I am absolutely magnificent, thank you very much, with my average human body. Not everyone can rip a boar in half with their bare hands and just so you know, I can throw a punch if I need to. I had my share of fights when I was little.” Jaskier grumbled arms crossed around his chest as he marched in front of them with a fuss.

“Was?” Asked Geralt quietly, knowing very well the bard will hear it and throw a tantrum about his snarky remark but he couldn’t help himself. Oh, and Jaskier did not disappoint. As soon as that one word left Geralt’s lips the poet stopped and turned around with his red cheeks, eyes shiny with anger. Geralt could practically feel the scent of rage prickle in his lungs as he inhaled deeply.

“You utter arse! Get off the horse Witcher and I will show you who is little. Come on you coward!” He hissed stomping with his feet and for a second Geralt thought about just laughing it off and riding past the bard but the other was such a fool challenging a witcher he thought it was his time to tease the bard. After all, Jaskier was amusing while his face was all crimson from embarrassment and he had that lovely spark in those fiery blue eyes. Roach stopped as Geralt pulled on the reins, and he could see Jaskier blink with confusion for a second as the mutant effortlessly landed on the ground turning towards the bard. He didn’t think Geralt will actually take up on his threat, but fuck, the witcher was now leaving Roach and walked slowly towards Jaskier. The brunet’s eyes were following those mile-long strong legs and he could feel his throat clench.

“I thought you will show me how...” Geralt started with his uninterested, raspy voice and Jaskier snapped with a snarl, shoving both of his palms into the mutant’s chest, pushing him back a few steps.

“Oh shut up you absolute tosser. You can just piss off.” The troubadour barked and got even more frustrated as Geralt just stepped back, didn’t even stumbled, or fell on his perfect arse. The bastard. The bard knew that he was not a warrior or a monster slayer, but he was not someone made of glass. He could put up a fight if he needed to and he was more than ready to wipe that smirk off of Geralt’s face even if he breaks his knuckles while trying.

“Easy there bard, don’t hurt yourself.” Geralt’s voice was teasing and the hiss what left Jaskier’s mouth was almost feral and it made the witcher’s grin wider on his pale face. The poet moved, his right arm pulled back, ready to strike down on the witcher’s jaw, and it could have reached its target, only if it wouldn’t be Jaskier trying to throw a punch, but someone else. Geralt leaned back, letting the bard’s fist swing right in front of his face while he caught Jaskier’s wrist with his right hand so fast those blue eyes didn’t even realise that he is being captured.

The bard has been spun around on his heels as Geralt twisted his arm over his back, pulling him to his chest gently. The witcher reached over the bard’s body to tug his other arm behind his back as well and the poet was trapped in a second. Jaskier yelped, his breath hitched in his throat as both of his hands were pressed between Geralt’s chest and his own shoulder blades. It all happened in the blink of an eye. He could feel Geralt’s solid, warm body press against his own as he tried to tug his arms away with no luck.

“O-Oi, let go of me Geralt!” He shouted turning k his head to glare at the other, only to find the witcher’s face just right there, next to his own. Jaskier’s eyes enlarged as he felt the puff of air hit his pink cheek and his whole body freeze. Oh. They have never been this close before. He could feel Geralt’s silver hair caress his skin. He could see how Geralt had some darker spots in his yellow iris and it took away Jaskier’s breath completely.

“You made your point you b-bloody witcher, I am useless, now let go of my arms.” He mumbled not as harshly as he meant to, more like a plead, and he was sure the mutant could hear it how his heart was hammering in his chest and the blood rush into his face.

“Little lark.” Two words. All it was. Just two words whispered on that raspy voice and Jaskier could feel himself tremble. Oh, gods. “Just a little lark. That is what I wanted to say.” Geralt's voice was softer than usual as he talked and just as quickly as he snatched Jaskier’s arms, he dropped them now, stepping back one stride to give some space to the bard, breaking whatever spell fell on the poet. Jaskier needed space, yes. And he needed air, and a goddamn brain which was actually working. He moved his arms around his body, pulling them to his chest, to touch the skin on his wrists were Geralt was holding onto them just a second ago. He turned on his heels to look at Geralt who was staring at him with his head tilted slightly to one side, a white strand of hair falling over his amber eyes as he watched him. Jaskier’s knees wobbled and he cursed at his traitorous body.

“Don’t belittle yourself, bard. I know you are not a wuss, after all, you put up with me all day long.” Geralt said with the fondest smile Jaskier ever seen him giving to anyone, including Roach, and the man turned his back to him to march back to the horse and jumped up in the saddle like nothing had just happened. Jaskier was speechless. He tried to wrap his mushy mind around those words, they almost sounded like a... compliment? From Geralt? He shivered, snapping out of his thoughts with a shake of his head.

“S-so you don’t think... “ His voice died on his tongue as he looked up at the witcher who just raised his eyebrows at him. “You don’t think I’m a weakling?” Jaskier waited for a moment, he saw Geralt think about a proper answer and he hoped it will be more than a grunt or some guttural noise through sharp teeth like usually.

“No. Your strength is different than mine, but you are not weak.” Geralt spoke nonchalantly like it was nothing and with a small push of his heels, Roach started to stroll. “I know you could have defended yourself last night against those men if they don’t attack you in a group.” Said the mutant and Jaskier just stared at him finding absolutely nothing to say in return.

“Tie your pack on the saddle and don’t lie to me ever again about being in pain.” Geralt growled and glared at the bard until his legs were moving towards the mare and did as the witcher said.

“Am I allowed to ride on Roach?” Jaskier asked quietly looking up at the silver-haired man from behind his thick eyelashes and Geralt just snorted.

“Maybe if you break a bone.”

“Arsehole.” Jaskier shouted after the grinning man and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your lack of manners is frightening!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt "humiliating" our lovely bard in the 4th episode when that dude told Jaskier to drop his trouser is my spirit animal!
> 
> I stan tease!Geralt :"D
> 
> Anyhow I hope you liked this chapter, if you wanna talk you can find me shitposting on twitter
> 
> @doberainbow
> 
> See ya!


	5. She likes your horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Geralt's insecurity joined the chat*

It has been 4 weeks since Posada, and Jaskier needed a brand-new notebook since he already filled in his previous one. His imagination was keeping him awake at night, his mind was creating nonstop and his hands were barely able to keep up with his ideas. He has never been this mentally exhausted in his life and he truly cherished every single second of it. Every new rhythm and rhyme was welcomed and he just couldn’t stop.

Even Geralt noticed how the bard was composing more in these past days and every couple of nights when they arrived in a new town, Jaskier was performing songs he never heard before. It also meant that the bard was chatting less than before, and the witcher was grateful for that. Whatever muse kissed the poet, Geralt wanted to thank her. The coin was pouring onto them like rain, they could afford to sleep in normal beds with a full belly more than ever before and Geralt noticed some changes.

Before the bard when the mutant arrived in a village he was never welcomed with warmness and open hearts. He understood that people hated his kind, they feared him and he thought that will never change. He often was chased out of towns with pitchforks and torches when he returned with any monster’s severed head in his hand asking for his coin.

He was used to the disgusted looks, rocks were thrown at him, and how children hide behind their mothers when he walked on the streets. The name callings and spitting in his directions, these things were coming with the life he chose and he made peace with that long time ago. So how this boastful little bardling changed this century-old hatred and loathing towards witchers Geralt could not figure that out, but he will never forget it when he first realised it.

They were arriving early in the afternoon to this small, gloomy village, which had a problem with some creatures lurking and feeding on the fishermen by the small lake. Three travellers died in the past month, someone saw one of them get dragged under the water until the surface of the river turned crimson and the men never returned, there were no bodies found. They clearly needed a witcher, but it didn’t mean they were happily accepting his presence. At least, that was what Geralt thought.

“Hey Geralt, do you think I will have time to perform before we move along?” Jaskier was prancing in front of him and Roach, lute dangling by his side as he looked over his shoulder to the witcher who peaked at the other from under his hood. Jaskier's smile changed into a frown and he stopped quickly turning on his heels walking to Geralt.

“Why are you wearing your cloak? It’s such a lovely sunny day, even  _ you _ need some sunlight every once in a while, you are pale as a ghost.” Jaskier scolded him like an overgrown mother hen and Geralt snarled at him while walked around the bard, pulling Roach with him. He was not going to argue about this with Jaskier or anyone. “Unbelievable.” Called after him the poet and Geralt heard quick footsteps behind himself and he very well knew what the other will try to do, but no, not with him. Jaskier was not fast enough to sneak up on him. He turned around grabbed Jaskier’s narrow wrist in the air as the bard was reaching for his hood to pull it down. Cornflower-blue eyes widened, the brunet’s mischievous smile turned into a small ‘o’ shape as Geralt’s strong fingers tightened around his arm.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Geralt hissed at him from between sharp teeth and his amber eyes were glowing with fury. Jaskier blinked once and twice before pulled back his arm and stepped away while he ran his fingers over his skin there the witcher left white marks on his wrist. Geralt exhaled and sharply pinned the bard to his place with a pointed look once again before he turned back and started walking. The mutant could smell the confusion in Jaskier’s scent clouding around the bard who quietly followed him.

Geralt knew someone like Jaskier, someone so noisy and hungry for attention will never understand that gut-wrenching feeling when unwanted glares followed every movement of his body. No, how could he, he was so... human, after all. Normal. Jaskier had no mutations, no disfigurements on him, nothing worthy of evil looks and shocked gasps. Geralt on the other hand was a freak even amongst witchers and he will not let some annoying songbird gave him false hope that he was anything more than the monster everybody thought he was.

Jaskier was walking noiselessly behind the glooming figure as Geralt marched on the street of this small town. He could still feel the fingers capturing his wrists with such force for a second the troubadour thought his bones will snap and shutter. What possessed the other to react this way? Jaskier frowned as he glared at the other man’s back. A little sunlight would help with his grumpiness.

Geralt was not an easy companion. He was rude and rough around the edges, but Jaskier was eager to learn how to make the other accept him more, and maybe one day Geralt will open up. Jaskier smiled at the thought of the witcher talking freely to him, maybe even being interested in what the bard had to say or gods help him, joke, and laugh with him. Of course, sometimes Geralt teased him or told a dry joke but it was too rare and the poet was insatiable. Jaskier was persistent if nothing else.

Their “relationship” already improved every single day they spent together. So agonizingly slowly, but Jaskier could see the progress. Geralt was still as stiff and gruff as ever, but he started to ease around him. After all, they shared a bed once and Jaskier woke up with all his limbs still attached to his body. What was that if not an achievement? Geralt even touched him sometimes freely, like when he told that barkeeper that he gave the black eye and bruises to Jaskier while they slept together. Speaking about that morning though, it still made Jaskier’s heart flutter in his chest and his body warmed up to the memory. He was craving for more of that and it was hard to ignore these feelings inside him. It was utterly unprofessional of him as a loyal travel companion.

Jaskier snapped out of his daydreams as he heard a muffled cry and as he looked around, he saw a small blonde girl clutch onto her mother’s skirt as she broke down into tears. The poet blinked as he saw the girl point a trembling finger at Geralt and sobbed even louder. Her mother tried to pull her daughter closer to her body and turn the child’s head away but the kid’s large eyes were following the witcher’s every step. The brunet glanced at Geralt, who looked like from behind where the bard was standing that he didn’t notice what was going on around him, but Jaskier knew him better than that. Jaskier's whole body breaks out in a shiver and his jaw dropped. Oh, sweet Melitele. He was such a fool. The young girl was still weeping loudly when the odd pair walked away from them and for a second Jaskier stopped in his track. It was a stupid idea. Geralt will kill him because of this, but again, after all, Jaskier was a moron and Geralt was already angry at him, he had nothing to lose. The brunet looked at the witcher once more before he pulled the lute to the front and turned to face the little girl and her mother with the brightest grin he managed to show.

_ “Oh, dear Princess,  _

_ Please don’t cry _

_ Your mom’s heart aches _

_ Now give us a smile.” _

Jaskier sang loud and cheerfully. He played a gentle rhythm on his lute as he crouched in front of the little girl and immediately as he opened his lips, he felt that yellow glare burning a hole into his skull. Well, it was too late to stop now. The whole street was staring at him and it was completely silent around them. He smiled softly and the blonde girl sniffled and slightly moved away from her mother’s skirt to see Jaskier better.

_ “Oh pretty lady _

_ Please don’t cry _

_ Your smile is shimmering _

_ It’s a shame to hide” _

He carried on and the girl’s round face lit up as Jaskier winked at her and earned a giggle. The mother smiled fondly at her daughter and gently pushed her forward for a better view.

_ “Now lovely girl _

_ Please don’t cry _

_ My friend may look grumpy _

_ But he is just shy” _

Jaskier’s singing earned a cackle from the girl and even her mother chuckled as the bard made a sad grimace, mimicking Geralt’s sour face. He stood up and carried on with the soft tune for a couple of seconds before he bowed deeply and ended his makeshift silly song. The girl and even her mom clapped vigorously and the bard locked eyes with the mom who just mouthed a soft  _ thank you _ .

“Now, now, it would be a shame to let someone ruin your day innit?” Jaskier asked the blonde girl while propped his hands on his hips smiling down to the little one. “Don’t be afraid of my friend over there, he may look scary but he is only here to save people.” He explained cheerfully and for a second the small girl’s eyes went back to where Geralt was standing a few metres away then she quickly looked down on her feet. Jaskier crouched down again, his elbows leaned on his knees as he smiled at the girl.

“It’s the eyes isn’t it?” He whispered as he pulled a face and the blonde girl just nodded shyly. “You know, my friend is really special.” He continued to speak softly but he knew that Geralt could easily hear them even from where he was standing.

“He can use magic.” Jaskier sighed and wiggled his fingers towards the girl who just chuckled. “He uses his magic to protect people and every time when he saves someone his eyes are turning more yellow.” Jaskier said and the girl’s face was now heavy with guilt as she glanced over to Geralt. “That’s why is he wearing his cloak, to not scare little girls like you.”

“He didn’t scare me that much.” Mumbled the girl and Jaskier’s grin widened.

“No?” He asked and the girl shook her head and her blonde, thick locks were falling over her face.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered and looked up to her mother, who brushed the hair back behind her small ears with a gentle face. “Can I tell him?” She asked her mom in a small shaky voice and Jaskier stood up to see the lady look at Geralt and worry quickly washed over her face.

“I will tell him.” Offered the bard and the girl looked up at him with a grin as her mother breathed out slowly.

“Come on Darling, it’s time for your lunch.” The mother grabbed the girl’s tiny hands and pulled her but the little one was still looking at Jaskier then back to Geralt.

“I like his horse. Tell him that too.” She demanded with a serious face before turned away and followed her mother and Jaskier couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. Kids were precious little devils. The poet watched as they disappeared into their house before pulled his lute’s strap to let the instrument dangle over his back and turned around on his heels with a satisfied smirk.

Geralt was standing there like he was chained to the ground, his hood casting a shadow over his white face, making his amber eyes marvelously glowy. The witcher’s jaw was clenched and his expression was unreadable as always when Jaskier walked closer to him until the brunet was just standing right in front of Geralt.

“She likes your horse.” He spoke with a grin and Geralt’s left eyebrow twitched before he spun around and strolled away with a grunt. Jaskier’s heart was thrumming hastily under his ribcage and had an utterly the dumb smirk on his lips as he followed the witcher and started to hum a jolly tune.

They walked into a tavern and Jaskier was sipping on his first ale as he kept his eyes on the door. Geralt mumbled something about feeding Roach before the bard walked into the inn alone and ordered two drinks before he sat down in the corner, far away from the entrance where it was always noisy, but just close enough to the bar see everything from there.

Just how Geralt liked. Jaskier hummed with amusement. They never really talked about these meaningless things, but Jaskier was proud of himself for noticing these tiny details. Not much later Geralt pushed the door open slowly and without making any sound yet every customer turned to stare at the mutant as he removed his hood and looked around. The bard felt the air getting tense inside the tavern immediately. It was getting colder in there somehow or it was just him, but Jaskier clearly saw every single man turn around and glare at the witcher. Dirty remarks already dancing on the tip of their tongues.

“Geralt, over here.” The poet shouted louder than necessary, waving his arms around when his eyes met the amber pair and the mutant marched over to their table. “Does Roach find this establishment good enough?” He asked with a grin as Geralt sat down and the brunet pushed a cup towards him. The witcher didn’t answer just rolled his golden eyes and took a large sip from the drink. “So, you, my dear Witcher...”

“Not yours. Not dear.” Mumbled Geralt but Jaskier just continued without missing a beat.

“You don’t like it when people watch you, am I right?” The bard just smiled broadly and Geralt breathed out with annoyance.

“And you think this because?” Geralt asked and looked absolutely dull, disinterested even, but it never really bothered Jaskier before. 

“Well...”

“Don’t. Never mind. I don’t even care. Just shut up.” Grunted the witcher and now Jaskier was pouting and muttering incoherently like a man child he is. Geralt didn’t have the energy to listen to this rubbish, even if it was partially true. He will not sit here and try to explain it to the bard. First of all, there was nothing to explain, it should be obvious, they are travelling together for long enough to understand how the public reacted to Geralt each time when he comes to a new town. Even though the poet worked hard every single time when he performed, it will take years maybe even decades to change how the people saw witchers. Geralt knew that this won’t be easy and he felt guilty.

He should tell Jaskier that his ballads, no matter how catchy they were, will not change hundreds of years of tales and slanders. It was a lost battle. As Geralt looked at the bardling who was so young and talented, filled with faith and now had a serious pout on his plump lips, the witcher had to admit something; Jaskier was truly extraordinary. Geralt sometimes fantasized about sneaking away while the bard was still in a deep slumber, leaving him behind, or just telling him to piss off once and for all. But each time when the mutant felt his patience get thinner and thinner something was still holding him back. Even now, he felt that tightening feeling inside his guts as Jaskier was fiddling with his hands in front of him.

“You don’t have to defend my honour bard. It is far too late for that.” Geralt grumbled as he glared at the brunet who just puffed out his chest.

“Well, I beg to differ. And anyway, even if it’s too late, I guess I will die trying then.” Jaskier threw back his hair from his face as he talked and raised a challenging eyebrow at Geralt while the witcher’s frown just deepened. This kid was too stubborn for his own good.

“Well not really die of course, because I have you to save my glorious arse, but you know, in an artistic way. I will put down my lute if I can’t change the public’s opinion about you. I mean it.” Melitele helps him, Geralt knew it damn well that the brunet was serious. Jaskier’s eyes were shining in this dim tavern, he had now a determined smirk on his young face and he was waiting eagerly for Geralt’s answer. He was too old to argue with a child, thought the mutant, and just shook his head.

“Hm.”

“No, don’t go mute now, Geralt, I mean it! You saw that little girl earlier, all it took was to talk to her and honestly, if you wouldn’t be so terrible at it, it would be so much easier for you.” Jaskier pointed an accusing finger at him as he sipped on his ale and Geralt honestly tried to fight off that small smile that was creeping on his lips but he just hid it behind his mug.

“Well, then I'm lucky I have you.” He mumbled and Jaskier’s eyes were large as he stared at the silver-haired monster slayer and needed a second to realise what the witcher just said. Geralt saw his brain working on digesting his words before a huge ear to ear grin displayed on the poet’s face.

“Well sure you are a lucky man. I’m the finest company anyone could wish for. Besides Roach of course, but it’s great to be appreciated.”

Geralt knew that they were getting too comfortable around each other. These past weeks he noticed how much he changed and it was not good. The bardling attached himself to the mutant and only the gods knew how long the troubadour was planning to follow him around. Geralt looked at Jaskier as he sipped on his ale while the bard jumped into a fascinating story. The witcher was feeling a wee bit guilty because he was not paying any attention to what Jaskier was babbling about.

He watched the rosy cheeks, the boyish features, the poet’s slender fingers waving, and drawing a picture in the air. He could only hope Jaskier was not too fond of him after all, because when he will send him away, the bard has to go and Geralt didn’t want to hurt him too much. Jaskier was giggling about something he just said not missing a single beat and still jabbering without a stop and Geralt felt himself focus on his smooth, silky voice. Words were flying in and out of his ears, he only heard the bard’s voice and Geralt remembered the first time he heard the poet in Posada.

_ Love the way you just sit in the corner and brood. _

Gods, he could feel those blue eyes on him while Jaskier was performing in that tavern. He could smell the curiosity coming out of the bard as he slowly walked to him. That gaze made his skin prickle as Jaskier sat down in front of him and the mutant remembered how much he tried to glare at him and scare the poet away.

“Geralt? Are you even listening?” Jaskier’s voice snatched him out of his memories as he blinked up at the bard who was now frowning at him. “What are you thinking about with that sour expression on your face?”

“You.” Geralt smirked and the bard’s face turned into a small surprised look.

“About little old me? How come?” Jaskier smiled, but it wasn’t that blinding grin he usually wore, it was a shy small tug of his lips as he looked away from Geralt down to his fidgeting hands.

“I thought about the first time I met you.” Geralt admitted with a shrug and he could hear the small hiccup in Jaskier’s heartbeat as he looked up at the witcher.

“Yeah? W-what did you think about me back then?” Jaskier was shifting on the bench as he leaned closer. His voice was unsteady but he smelled so eager it was punching Geralt in the guts. The witcher snorted, trying to recall the first impressions he got about the bard. “Come on, I have a thick skin you can tell me.” Jaskier jokingly pestered him and Geralt just raised an eyebrow at the bard.

“Young. Foolish. Troublesome.” He grumbled and for a second Jaskier was staring at him with huge eyes before he threw his head back with a bubbling laugh and Geralt couldn’t help but grin from that sight.

“Seriously? I was singing my heart out in that inn.”

“Your song was not making any sense, bard.” Geralt pointed it out and for a moment Jaskier was turning red at his cheeks before he ran his long fingers through his silky hair.

“Well, alright. I give you that, but I had the passion. After all, I followed you to hunt for real monsters and write better ballads.”

“Hm.” Geralt nodded and sipped on his ale. Jaskier was staring at him. The brunet’s fingers were tapping erratically on the side of his own mug as his pink tongue ran across his chapped bottom lip like whenever he was thinking about something he knew was too risky to say it out loud. “What about you?” Geralt asked and cocked his head to the side. Jaskier’s eyes cast down and he was running his pointing finger over the edge of his cup in fast circles.

“What about me?” He asked back, looking up at Geralt from behind his thick, curly eyelashes. It surprised him that the witcher wanted to know more about him. Usually, it was the other way around.

“You didn’t know I was a witcher when you came over.” Geralt pointed it out and Jaskier was glaring again at his own hands as he kept nipping on his top lip. He was silent for a couple of seconds before he leaned back, letting his hands drop into his lap and looked back at the mutant.

“Well, I told you back then. You were the only one who didn’t throw any food at me and criticized my song so I thought you might be the best company there.” Jaskier smiled and Geralt could smell it all across the table; the unmistakable scent of a lie.

“Bullshit.” He grinned and Jaskier’s eyes widened as his lips fell agape.

“Well... not entirely.” The bard crossed his arms over his chest in defense as he rolled his blue eyes and pouted. Geralt leaned forward, placing his elbows on the wooden table and sniffed the air. “S-stop doing that. Gods, what are you a dog?” Jaskier shrieked, his face turned a deeper shade of crimson, and Geralt threw a toothy grin at him. “You looked fascinating okay?” The bard admitted and it was the truth the mutant could easily tell that much, but again the flush on Jaskier’s face quickly crept down to his long neck and sharp collarbones.

“Y-you had this dark, mean, gloomy cloud around you, yet... yet you didn’t shout at me or threw something at me.” Jaskier shrugged, still not looking at the mutant and Geralt heard and smelled that the bard was telling the truth. “I could see that you had white hair, but when I walked closer I saw that you were young.”

“I’m not young, bard. Far from it.” Geralt muttered and Jaskier chuckled a tiny bit at that.

“Yeah, well, you look young, and you would look even younger if you wouldn’t scowl all the time.” Geralt smiled at that and took a large sip from his drink. “You just looked very...captivating.” The poet continued in a weak tone and Geralt barely managed not to cough into his mug as he locked eyes with the bard who had such an open and honest expression on his face the mutant felt like he could possibly drown in it.

It was cruel from Geralt to ask him these questions, yet Jaskier wanted him to know how mesmerizing the witcher truly was in his eyes. He could still remember how fast his heart was beating when he first caught the sight of Geralt back in Posada while he was singing and twirling around between the tables. He looked majestic. That was the first thing that came into the poet’s mind when he saw that handsome face in that dim corner. His straight nose and full lips with his sharp jawline. The way the mutant was frowning and how pale he looked with his milky skin and silver hair. Jaskier was pulled to Geralt by something he couldn’t really explain but he knew it well he wasn’t thinking twice about marching closer to the man and trying to talk with him. Jaskier wanted to hear his voice, he needed to get those eyes on him and Melitele’s tits, he had all the air punched out of his lungs when he first saw those amber eyes up close.

Back then, he didn’t know right away that Geralt was a witcher, it was just a lovely surprise. A striking man who oozed strength and adventures and was not only breathtakingly beautiful but was also a monster hunter? He was stupefied. He was astounded as soon as the other growled at him and walked away and the bard’s body moved on his own. He was turning around to see the witcher leave the tavern and in his short life, Jaskier has never been surer about anything than that the silver-haired man was his destiny and he has to follow him. Of course, it was not easy. Geralt didn’t trust him and he tried to leave him behind many times, but Jaskier was a stubborn little leech stuck onto him. If Geralt pushed him away, he kept bouncing back again. When Geralt snarled at him Jaskier joked about it. When Geralt told him to leave the poet just kept sneaking closer until the man just gave up and Jaskier truly hoped the witcher one day will seek his company and not just tolerate it.

Jaskier was uncharacteristically quiet for minutes now, deep in his thoughts with a dazed look on his face. Geralt was staring at him without even knowing. He was still just a boy, so young. Geralt couldn’t even remember how he was when he was Jaskier’s age. It was nearly a hundred years ago.

“How old are you, bard?” Geralt heard his own raspy voice drag Jaskier out of his daydreams. The brunet’s round eyes were now focused on the witcher as he smiled broadly.

“Nineteen. This will be my twentieth summer.” Oh fuck the gods, he was barely an adult. Geralt snorted and shook his head as he finished his ale. Not a surprise why the poet was so reckless and venturous.

“You really shouldn’t be here.” He sighed and could smell immediately the panic rising in the air.

“We been through this before Geralt, you can’t scare me away.” Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled at the man in front of him. “You think this life is not suitable for anyone but a witcher. Well, I’m with you for four weeks now and I am still alive and you tried everything to make me leave. Get it through your thick skull already. I am not leaving.” Jaskier looked awfully smug as he glared at Geralt who just frowned at the bard in return.

“I really do enjoy this Geralt.” Said the troubadour gesturing with his long fingers between the two of them and his voice was softer than before and Geralt felt cornered by that honest look in his eyes. “I learned more about life and people in these weeks than before at the academy. You and following your life is worth being hungry and drenched and dirty all the time.” Geralt couldn’t help but smirk at that and Jaskier was grinning back at him.

“I-I know I'm like a decade younger than you but I know what I want to do with my life and for now, I want to make the people realise that they fear and hate witchers for no reason. This adventure gives me so much inspiration like nothing ever did before. Geralt your life is... spectacular and so are you.” Jaskier's voice faded at the end of his rant and Geralt was speechless for a moment before he shook his head.

“A decade?” He raised an eyebrow and the poet had a deeper shade of red on his cheeks now.

“Well, we never really discussed your age or anything else for the matter of fact, Geralt. Sometimes I feel like I am talking to a tree.” He smiled sheepishly and the mutant just cackled roughly as Jaskier scowled at him. “What is so funny?”

“More like a century older.” Geralt flashed a sharp grin and Jaskier was absolutely flabbergasted. His mouth and eyes were widely open, his hands finally stopped their constant twitching and the witcher was amused thoroughly by his shocked reaction.

“What do you mean? Wait. How old are you Geralt?” Jaskier was jabbering and the mutant just smirked. “No... You can’t be that old. You look...” The bard shut his mouth quickly and averted his eyes from Geralt to the wall behind the mutant’s head.

“Witchers live longer than humans, bard.”

“Yes I know that but I didn’t know you keep looking like... like this.” He threw his hands towards Geralt’s whole being and his cheeks were now flaming. He was being a fool again. Of course, he knew witchers have a longer lifespan than common folks, but now looking at the silver-haired monster hunter, he felt such a child. All those remarks about him being an idiot and negligent made so much more sense.

“So you are like more than a hundred years old?” Jaskier's voice was higher than usual and Geralt knew all the questions are already queuing up in his head as the witcher just nodded. “Oh, gods this is brilliant. So you can tell me how people were a hundred years ago? How they dressed and talked. You saw kingdoms come and go and... I need my notes.” Geralt knew he made yet another mistake, but the scent of eagerness coming out of Jaskier’s skin was too sweet to feel guilty about it. So Geralt just sat there for fuck knows how long while the bard was scribbling in his book and threw questions at him after one another and the mutant tried his best to satisfy the poet’s thirst for knowledge with answering gruffly with a small smile on his face he tried to hide each time Jaskier lifted his blue eyes at him.

“Alright, okay, the last question I swear.” Jaskier was cackling at Geralt’s tired and mortified face. He was interrogating the poor man for hours now but he had to admit it, he was impressed. Geralt was using his words instead of grunts and snorts and Jaskier decided to grab this opportunity and feed off of it as long as it lasted because he knew the witcher well enough to see that Geralt’s patience was running thinner by each passing second, and Jaskier was hungry for knowledge. It was a shame truly. He was sure he could listen to Geralt’s raspy, deep voice for days without getting bored of it and that thought scared him enough to push it aside and ignore it for a while until he was ready to face the fact that he enjoyed the silver-haired man’s company way too much. “When is your birthday?” Jaskier asked softly and Geralt frowned at him. He did not expect that question.

“I don’t have one.” He grunted and the poet tilted his head to the side with a scowl.

“Bollocks, everyone has a birthday. If-if you don’t want me to know when it is that’s fine. You can just say that.” The bard just shrugged and he tried it hard to play it off how much it truly stung to think about that Geralt was still not comfortable enough with Jaskier to share this seemingly meaningless information. Geralt frown deepened on his face when the brunet’s smile crumbled. And his flowery smell faltered.

“It is not that. I never celebrated my birthday and I don’t have anyone alive to know when I was born.” Geralt said it gruffly and he heard the skipped beat coming from the poet’s chest.

“Oh. I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hm.” Geralt looked away when the bard just kept staring at him with that unreadable gleam in his eyes which always made the witcher uneasy in his own skin.

“You should have a birthday though. Everyone deserves a day when your friends and family celebrate you.” Jaskier's voice was gentle and the mutant just shoots him a skeptical look. “Well, uh, Roach and I could you know, at least wish you a happy birthday, or... or something.” Geralt eyebrows run upon his forehead as he stared at the bard fidgeting on the bench. “Give you a gift you know... do something you enjoy for once.” Jaskier just shrugged as he murmured under his breath and the mutant couldn’t help it but snort quietly. The bard’s eyes widened as Geralt shook his head with a toothy grin. “What? You do deserve a day for yourself.”

“And what would I do with that day, bard?”

“Well, whatever you want. Have some rest, go to a bathhouse, and just don’t worry about witchering for a day. Whatever. It was just an idea.” Jaskier shrugged and looked around in the tavern trying to avoid Geralt’s eyes and the witcher was absolutely baffled. The mere idea of doing what he wants to do for a whole day was going against everything he ever knew. Witchers were not supposed to be pleased or enjoy what they were doing. Geralt was nothing more than a soldier with a duty. He never did anything because he wanted to do it, he did it because he  _ had  _ to do it. He ate when he got hungry. He slept when he collapsed from weariness. He fucked when he had to settle his nerves. The proposed idea of doing something he liked was foreign to him. He was aware of when Jaskier got restless from the quiet and started to study his sullen face with those questioning blue eyes.

“There must be something you love, Geralt.” The bard said that like it was just a whisper and the witcher was confused. There were many things he secretly adored. Like the smell of the ground after heavy rain. It always got his heart beating slower. Or the first warm rays of sunshine after winter on his face. The sound of a steamy savoury pie when he cut it in half and the flaky layers crunched under his knife. He liked to run his fingers through Roach’s short fur. He liked the sound of his sword when it cut through the air.

“What are you thinking about? I can see that troubling shadow on your face.” The bard smiled at him while he popped one elbow on the table and placed his chin into his palm not taking his eyes off of Geralt.

“There is nothing I  _ want  _ to do, bard. Witchers shouldn’t enjoy what they do, we are doing it because we have to.” He growled low in his throat, locking eyes with the poet who just smiled broadly at him.

“That is a big pile of horseshit and you know it. If you would do just once in every blue moon what comforts you, you would be less of a sourpuss and maybe you would learn to love life as well, not just put up with it.” Jaskier grinned and Geralt felt like he just got scolded and the feeling was annoying him less than it should have.

“You have no idea what you are talking about.” He huffed and in response, Jaskier just giggled like a barmaid usually did when she heard the bard’s silly jokes.

“Well, I think I do know because, from the two of us, I am not the grouch.”

Jaskier was too brassy for his own good and Geralt wanted to put this annoying bardling to his place but instead, he just shook his head as the other grinned at him. After all, he decided to add one more small nonsense to the short list of things he liked.

The way Jaskier’s eyes shined brightly when the bard smiled. Yeah. He definitely liked that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, 
> 
> I hope you guys, gals and non-binary pals liked this chapter :)
> 
> If you want to chat then you can always find me on twitter
> 
> @doberainbow  
> Have a lovely day and stay safe~~


	6. Pitch-black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has a problem with Geralt's black eyes. He loves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!
> 
> Sorry for the late update but my last week was terrible.  
> I guess we all fight with our own demons, specially in these mad times...
> 
> But anyway, I'm back with a "shorter" chapter. Sorry.
> 
> Love you all!!

It didn’t matter that Jaskier could still feel his bruises pulsating each time he moved a muscle. It didn’t matter that Geralt asked him to stay in the tavern and wait for him. It didn’t matter how many times on the way the witcher asked him to turn back and go home. It didn’t matter because now he was hiding behind a tree near the pond and tried to stay as quiet as much he could while Geralt walked over the morass.

The witcher tried to convince the bard to stay in the tavern. Not because it was dangerous. Drowners never leave the water they were hunting in. They were clumsy and vulnerable on land but just as deadly underwater. No, Jaskier was safe behind that tree where he was hiding and watching Geralt’s every move with those bright eyes. The mutant only had a problem with the bard  _ watching _ him. Drowners were vicious and there was always more than one of them, usually, a whole pack, and Geralt was alone. He needed to drink one of his potions to sharpen his senses. The only problem was the fact that it was the potion that changed his features. They were only travelling together for over four weeks and the poet had never seen him in that state and Geralt wanted to keep it that way as long as possible. Four weeks weren’t long at all.

Geralt looked over his shoulder and saw Jaskier behind the tree. As soon as their eyes met the bard grinned and waved. He could just knock him out, thought Geralt, and turned back to the pond. He could tell him that a drowner attacked the brunet from behind.

“Fuck.” Geralt grunted and shook his head. Why did he even care if Jaskier saw him as a monster or not? He shouldn’t care about something so trivial. He never did before. Of course, the brunet was the only one who never smelled like fear around him but Geralt couldn’t hide his true self forever. It would happen eventually. Sooner or later the bard will leave as well. He will realise that the mutant was nothing but a magically created monster. It always happened to everyone. Jaskier was just ignoring it for a while.

In the second when Geralt stepped into the pond the surface darkened around him and waves started to hit his thighs. He could feel several heartbeats in the water but the loudest drumming was coming from Jaskier who was hiding behind a tree. He counted five drowners. They were all circling around him, measuring him up when his hips disappeared under the waves.

“Fuck it.” Geralt grunted and reached under his chest plate where a small cork bottle was hidden. He tore the stopper out of the glass with his teeth and chugged the sour liquid in one large gulp.

The effect was immediate. His senses sharpened to such a high-level everything become unbearably painful. The sunlight in his eyes was blinding him. His clothes were tight, suffocating and scratching his skin like thousand needles. He could hear everything around them and it was deafening. He felt his own blood pumping in his neck and fingers as his grip tightened around his silver sword. He could hear clearly as the drowners were snarling and snapping their jaws in the small lake, but there was something else. It was nothing but a whisper over and over again repeating the same three words.

_ “Please be safe. Please be safe. Please be safe.” _

The noises were coming from Jaskier who was watching Geralt with wide eyes and kept talking to himself. It was echoing in his skull like a thunder trapped between mountains, yet somehow the mutant felt calmer as soon as he started to pay attention to the bard’s murmuring. Usually, when he is in this feral state he can feel the monster locked inside him trying to get out and it’s always a battle to keep the beast in the cage where it belongs. Now with the bard’s soft voice in his head that monster was silent. Tamed. There was not a single guttural voice coming out of it. Both Geralt’s human and mutated sides were listening to Jaskier’s soft words and velvety tone.

It was anchoring him.

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and breathed out slowly. He focused all of his senses on the brunet for one last time before he raised his arm and cast the spell Aard. The drowners were shaken by the sudden magical force that hit the water and the beasts immediately attacked with a shriek. The last thing the witcher heard before the monster’s surrounded his body was Jaskier’s choked voice as he called out his name.

“Geralt!” Screamed the poet as the five muddy creatures launched themselves at the white-haired man at the same time. Geralt disappeared under the water and there were so many scaly limbs and fangs flashing Jaskier had to close his eyes.

“Please be safe!” He whispered again and his sky-blue eyes were studying the surging water. The surface was brown from the sludge getting stirred at the bottom and he couldn’t see anything just rapid dark shapes. Jaskier stepped out from behind the tree without even noticing to doing so when Geralt’s silver hair emerged from the water. “Oh thank fuck.” Sighed the brunet as the witcher shook the water off of himself like a wet dog before he raised his sword again.

Seeing Geralt fight was truly mesmerizing. The man moved like it was a practised dance no matter what creatures were attacking him. He was so graceful Jaskier couldn’t take his eyes off him. Every single sword strike and punch was fluid and well thought through.

The drowners were loud, their screeches were turning the bard’s skin into gooseflesh under his shirt. Geralt already defeated two of them. Their lifeless bodies were floating on the surface and they weren’t any less terrifying now once they were dead. Three of the remaining drowners were already heavily bleeding and Geralt seemed to be utterly ferocious. He kept going after them and swung the heavy sword like it weighed nothing. Probably it was feather-light for Geralt. For a second Jaskier couldn’t put that thought anywhere. It made his stomach twist and his face was heating up from it.

He already knew how it was when the mutant was nothing but gentle touches a soft caress. If he closed his eyes he could still recall how it felt to have Geralt’s calloused fingers ran across his bruised skin. It made his knees wobble. But when he opened his eyes and saw the witcher effortlessly rip those beasts apart Jaskier had a dark feeling awakening inside his belly. It was more primal, more animalistic and it scared him.

Jaskier never wanted to devour anyone before. He enjoyed fine company and mischievous women. He had some delirious nights before. So many he couldn’t count it. He liked the teasing and the chasing. He loved being the one who won the hearts of the ladies and adored the feeling of someone being vulnerable with him. He wanted to give them pleasure and he wanted to stay in charge but now… as he watched Geralt he couldn’t help but wonder.

What would it feel like to be on the receiving end of this attention? To have given the reins to someone and let them decide where are they going to lead him. He always thought he would never meet anyone he will trust so much to give up his control and just let them do whatever they want with him… but as he watched Geralt he couldn’t help but wonder.

Jaskier saw the witcher decapitate the biggest drowner from the pack and the bard just only now paid attention to how fast his hard was pounding under his ribs. He wasn’t worried about Geralt’s life anymore. No, the silver-haired man was clearly winning this one without having a scratch but then why was his heart so untamed?

Jaskier gasped when the witcher finished off the last two monsters with a growl and he felt the blood rush into his cheeks. That was quite sensual. The bard shivered and put his palms over his face. His skin was flaming up. He felt feverish. What an absolute fool he was. Of course, Geralt in his own crotchety, brutish way was somehow charming but like this, drenched, covered in guts, panting… Melitele’s tits… Jaskier was getting dizzy.

Who was he kidding, the witcher was undeniable gorgeous and he knew that from the first second he saw those white locks and handsome brooding face in Posada. That was the first reason why he walked over to Geralt’s table to see the man from up close and convince himself that he was probably not that beautiful once he closed the distance between them. Oh, how wrong he was…

As soon as the mutant looked at him Jaskier accepted the fact that this man is and probably will be the most breath-taking creature he will ever see and with that, he locked away that thought somewhere hidden in his head and decided to ignore it. Until now.

As Geralt stood there covered in the drowners’ blood, breathing heavily, with his broad back facing the bard, he looked truly captivating. Jaskier slowly walked closer to the pond and made a grimace when one of the floating dead creatures made eye contact with him. Gross.

“You were absolutely brilliant Geralt!” The bard’s jolly voice dragged back the witcher from his snarling as he heard the poet come closer to the lake. “The way you moved? Those punches? Terrific. I’m so glad I saw you fight, I can’t wait to go back to the tavern and start writing it down.” Jaskier grinned widely and Geralt knew that because his voice always went higher when the brunet’s smile became a face-splitting grin. And of course, he could smell the happiness oozing out of the bard mixing lightly with that sweet scent the witcher still couldn’t place anywhere. “Are you alright there Geralt? Are you stuck?” The poet asked and the mutant heard him step even closer.

“Stop!” Geralt shouted as his brain came back to reality. 

“Geralt? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Of course, Jaskier wasn’t listening. He walked faster and came closer. The brunet was nearly standing in the water now and the witcher’s breathing was getting heavier and raggedy.

“Don’t! Don’t come here.” He commanded while still facing away from the troubadour and finally the poet stopped in his track. Geralt felt those confused eyes boring a hole into his back.

“I’m fine.” He hissed and ducked his head further down. The scent coming from the bard was maddening. It was clouding his brain. Wrapped around him like a wet blanket. Suffocating and comforting at the same time.

“Then come out of the water. You will get sick if you stand there any longer. You are drenched, let’s go back to the village so you can have a bath.” Jaskier’s voice was worried and Geralt was sure he was standing there with his hands on hips like an unhappy wife.

He needed to convince the bard to go back without him and give the witcher some time to get the potion out of his system.

“Geralt?”

“Go back to the village, bard.” The mutant snarled and could hear the little gap between two beats in Jaskier’s chest. Like a small hiccup.

“A-are you not coming?” The poet stuttered and the witcher’s jaw clenched tightly. His sharp teeth were nearly breaking the skin on his bottom lip.

“Leave now, bard! Go!” Geralt's voice was frantic and Jaskier’s worried scent was like a warm flame touching his skin. It was burning his lungs.

“Geralt? What are you talking about? Geralt look at me! Are you injured?” The witcher growled when he heard the bard step into the water and the mutant threw one arm up behind his back, still not looking at the brunet.

“Stay there Jaskier!” Geralt shouted and for a second he truly believed the poet will listen to him. It was silent for a moment. He could imagine the confused look on the other’s young face. Then the bard stepped into the water.

“Geralt tell me whaEEH!” Jaskier’s yelp was loud and followed by a splash as the brunet slipped on a rock and submerged into the lake. His voice was followed by a gargle and more sloshing. Geralt turned back and saw the bard disappear in the water, falling onto the sharp rocks.

“Jaskier?” The witcher called out his name as he rushed through the mud where the poet still couldn’t regain his footing. Jaskier was still under the water and only his brown hair was poking out from below the surface. Geralt grabbed a handful of the bard’s purple doublet and lifted him up until Jaskier’s slippery boots found a solid rock to step on. The bard had his hair all over his face as he coughed and grasped Geralt’s leather straps across his chest.

“F-fuck.” Spat the brunet and shook his head until his heavy locks were plastered over his forehead and cheeks and could blink the water out of his startled blue eyes.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt asked as he looked over the poet but he couldn’t see any injuries just the old bruises what Jaskier already had before he fell.

“No, just I thought something grabbed my foot.” The bard just laughed and looked up where his fingers were wrapped around the mutant’s leather harness. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to grab you like that,” Jaskier mumbled and pulled back his arms quickly.

“I didn’t hurt you or-” Asked the brunet but his words died in his throat immediately as soon as he lifted his eyes to Geralt’s face.

The witcher froze in that damned second when those large blue eyes roamed over his monstrous face and Geralt could feel his chest sting. Jaskier’s lips fell apart as he stared at him without blinking. The mutant pursed his lips and let go of the brunet’s shoulders and backed away.

“I told you to-”

“Geralt what…” Jaskier’s whisper interrupted him and the witcher knit his eyebrows together as the bard just kept fucking staring at him. His flowery scent was heavily disturbed with the smell of water and mud and it was coming from the brunet in erratic waves. 

“Go away.” Geralt hissed and was ready to climb out of the water and wait somewhere else until the potion’s effects vanish. Somewhere far away from Jaskier. He was not going to listen to this. Whatever will come he doesn’t want to hear it. He heard it countless times before.

Freak. Disgusting. Demon.

Geralt shook his head and marched out of the water only to have the brunet step in front of him and block his way.

“W-what happened? Have you been poisoned?” Gasped the bard and slowly raised his hand towards the mutant’s face. Geralt panicked and pushed the hand away as he stumbled away from the touch.

“Go away!” He barked again and could see a visible shiver ran across Jaskier’s soaking wet body but he still didn’t move away. “Just, fucking go!” Geralt shouted and those blue eyes were still glued to his ghostlike face and demonic eyes.

“Is it because of the potion you drank?” Jaskier asked with a hesitant voice and the witcher couldn’t help but bare his teeth in a grimace as he slowly nodded.

“You shouldn’t have seen me like this.” Geralt muttered and there was nothing on this Earth that could’ve to prepare him for Jaskier’s answer.

“Why?” That one world was so throaty and gentle it made the witcher’s guts twist in his belly.

Why wasn’t Jaskier running away? Why wasn’t he retching and looking away? Why was he… why was he so Jaskier?

“Geralt?” The witcher shut his eyes and tried to control his messy thoughts. He didn’t hear when the bard stepped closer. He didn’t see how Jaskier was nipping on his bottom lip. But he did feel it when a warm palm was placed on his right cheek and his devilish eyes snapped open.

Geralt couldn’t say anything because now he was choking on Jaskier’s sugary smell. There was nothing flowery in his scent, it was just that weighty, sweet caramel wrapped around their bodies fighting off the stench off the dead drowners around them.

“Is this happening every time when you drink that?” Asked the bard and his thumb was slowly caressed Geralt’s pale cheekbone as his eyes were following the black veins on his face.

“Hm.” He grunted as Jaskier moved his palm away and the witcher bit into his tongue before he could protest. His skin was on fire and Jaskier’s hand felt like a layer of snow. He wanted more of it.

“You look like a…” The poet licked his lips as he slowly let his fingers caress Geralt’s jaw and neck in a straight line before he let his arm fall. “Gods Geralt it never happened with me before but I can’t find the right words.” Jaskier laughed and he had that silly, amazed smile on his lips. The witcher couldn’t look away.

“Monster.” He croaked it out and the bard was frowning at him a moment later. “The word you are looking for is; monster.” He repeated again and now Jaskier’s face changed into something the witcher never has seen before. Those sky-blue eyes darkened and his honeyed smell was now sharp and filled with anger.

“Are you taking the piss right now?” Jaskier asked with a low voice and the mutant just scowled at him. “You are a nutter if you think you look anything less than… than… gods, you are infuriating.” Groaned the bard and the silver-haired man was now completely lost.

“Let’s get out of here, it’s freezing and I don’t want my clothes to get ruined.” Jaskier turned around and marched out of the pond with the mutant following close behind. “Monster my arse. Bloody idiot.” He murmured under his breath as he shook the water out of his boots and Geralt just stood there and glared at his back.

“I can’t go back to the town like this.” He sighed slowly when the brunet started to walk away.

“What?” Jaskier spun around to face Geralt who was still so uncomfortable in his own skin with his too sensitive senses he wanted to claw his skin off his own face. “Oh, b-because of the people?” Asked the bard and Geralt just grunted a husky yes. “I don’t know why you think you look hideous but you don’t.” Jaskier said quietly with a small shrug and the mutant amber eyes narrowed dangerously.

“And you think I’m the crazy one?” Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow and now there was Jaskier again with his unapproving-wife posture and he pointed an accusing finger at the mutant.

“You have some serious issues, Witcher.” Jaskier started and Geralt just rolled his black eyes. “If you need a potion to help you defeat  _ real _ monsters and it happens to change some of your features and it bothers someone they can all kindly fuck off.” Said the bard with so much passion and fury the mutant shook his head with a smirk as he sat down in the grass with his back leaning against a tree.

“Don’t pull a muscle, bard.” He mumbled as Jaskier's tense shoulder slightly trembled from rage.

“You are unbelievable I hope you know that.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunted and a few seconds later Jaskier threw himself on his backside and sat front of the witcher with his legs crossed together and arms folded over his chest. He also had a serious pout on his pink lips and it made the mutant snort.

“It’s not funny, you shouldn’t think like that about yourself, you know. It’s not healthy.” Jaskier lectured him and the witcher just tilted back his head against the trunk.

“I’m a witcher, nothing I do is healthy.”

“Yeah well, whatever. Don’t call yourself a monster. Not in front of me at least.” The bard just mumbled and Geralt cracked one pale, veiny eyelid open.

“Why does it bother you so much?” Ha asked and Jaskier was quickly staring at the patch of yellow dandelions between their bodies.

“If you are a monster what does that make me?” The poet’s voice was weak but the question punched Geralt in the guts mercilessly and now he was looking at the brunet with his dark bottomless eyes. “I promised you I will change the people’s opinion about you but I can’t do that if you drag yourself through the dirt every single day.” Jaskier ranted and there was something awfully bitter in Geralt’s mouth. It was almost acidic. It tasted like shame.

“I don’t think you are as terrifying as you want to be or claim to be Geralt. I don’t think you’re monstrous or a savage. I only see a man trying to save humanity each and every day and people judge him for no reason.”

Geralt was baffled. This young bardling was saying those words with such honesty and confidence it shook him to his core. They were quiet. None of the spoke and after a few minutes Jaskier lay back on the thick grass with his arms under his head and stared at the clouds.

Geralt was watching him. The poet’s heart seemed to go back to its normal rhythm and he closed his blue eyes. The witcher never realised how long Jaskier’s eyelashes were until he saw them now curling upwards on his slightly rosy cheeks. Geralt frowned and averted his eyes from the young man.

“How long until it wears off?” Came the bard’s voice again and Geralt watched as the brunet pushed himself up on his elbows to look at the witcher.

“An hour more. Maybe less.” 

Geralt spoke roughly and now Jaskier was tilting his head to the side.

“How does it feel?” He asked with eagerness and the mutant closed his eyes again as he leaned back against the tree.

“Uncomfortable.” Geralt grumbled and he could feel Jaskier’s restless stare on his skin. “Like an itch, I can’t reach.” He elaborated more and there was a soft hum coming from the bard.

“But it helps?”

“Hm.” The witcher nodded shortly and opened his eyes to look at the cloudy sky. “Everything gets more intense. Scents, noises, even the darkness.” Geralt explained and there was a soft chuckle.

“You sound like a poet.” Jaskier grinned at him and the witcher’s jaw clenched as he grit his teeth together. “No, don’t stop. Please. I like the way you describe things. Even if you use more grunts than words.” The brunet just smiled and the witcher glared back at the bard.

“What?” Jaskier asked with a smirk but Geralt gloomy eyes were not bothering the poet at all.

“Nothing.” Came the one deep word and the mutant closed his eyes for good.

He knew that Jaskier was studying his face for some minutes before he stretched his arms above his head and went back to staring at the sky. Geralt was waiting for the potion to disappear from his body with a thought in his head that didn’t seem to leave him be.

Jaskier was always talking without a break yet Geralt felt like the bard was not telling him everything. Something in those cornflower-blue eyes was sparkling with an unfamiliar light like it was guarding, hiding a secret. Each time the witcher looked at the bard he felt like something was being swallowed down by the poet. He was not telling him something.

Geralt wasn’t really blaming him. No one should share their thoughts with a witcher yet it bothered him ruthlessly. Jaskier seemed to be someone who wanted to share everything with the mutant and there was that one thing, one thing he didn’t. Whatever it was.

Was it something he was ashamed of? Or afraid of? Geralt didn’t know. But he still had a feeling that it tried to came to the surface each time the brunet was watching him for too long but every single time Jaskier stopped himself from saying it aloud.

Whatever it was it shouldn’t matter. Not like Geralt cared about the bard or anyone else.

Besides Roach of course.

He didn’t. He didn’t care about Jaskier or what the troubadour was not telling him. He didn’t. He truly did not.

Unless…

He maybe did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all thirsty for the good old black-eyed Geralt, it's not just you Jaskier, don't worry :D
> 
> If you wanna chat you can find me on twitter. Feel free to come and say hi :)
> 
> @doberainbow
> 
> PS: Please guys, gals and nonbinary pals, stay safe out there. We live in horrible, crazy times. Take care of yourself!
> 
> #BlackLivesMatter  
> #HappyPrideMonth


	7. Eternal Glory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, 
> 
> I hope all of you are safe and healthy.
> 
> I'm sorry that I can't update as much as before but the lockdown is over and I had to go back to work... 
> 
> Well anyways, enjoy the chapter!!!

Jaskier had some problems. In the last week since Geralt’s fight with the drowners, he had difficulties with concentrating. Each time he dove into creating a new song he saw the witcher’s snow-white skin, blackened eyes, and his heart was beating so rapidly he couldn’t focus. The blood racing in his veins was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

“Come on. Get yourself together.” He hissed at himself and put down his lute. It was pointless to hold it any longer he couldn’t create any new melody in the past few days.

They were camping not far away from Tretogor. The forest they were in was dim and unwelcoming and every small noise made Jaskier shiver. He was left alone with Roach while Geralt was collecting firewood. The bard offered his help but the witcher told him to stay close to the horse and do not wander alone away from their camp. It wasn’t comforting at all. It started to get darker with every passing minute and Geralt was still nowhere to be found.

“Do you think he just left us here?” He looked at the mare who was just slowly chewing on a tussock not even flicking a single ear towards him. “Right. Sure. Yeah. He would never leave  _ you  _ here in the middle of nowhere.” Jaskier mumbled and immediately like the forest was mocking him there was a low and rather demonic voice coming from the darkness. It sounded almost as if someone was murmuring deeply a long spell or a curse.

“Did you hear that?” The bard gasped and jumped on his feet in a second. He was holding his lute close to his chest as he quickly roamed his eyes over his surroundings. The strings bit into his palms as he clenched his fists around the instrument’s neck. It would break his heart to destroy this majestic elven made gift but he refused to die here in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere before he could become famous. If it comes down to it he will have no other choice than to fight back with his only weapon. No, not screaming from the top of his lungs, but hitting whoever or whatever was lurking in the shadows with his precious lute.

“Do you think it was Geralt? It sounded like a human-made or well witcher-made voice. ” The poet looked at Roach who glared back at him with an unimpressed scowl. “You are not a big help I hope you know that.” Jaskier groaned and walked over to the horse caressing the soft chestnut-brown fur on her side to calm himself down.

Jaskier was getting restless. Geralt was taking too long and the noises were getting louder around them yet Roach was seemingly unbothered. Or she was just braver than Jaskier. Probably the latter.

“You don’t think something got him right? I mean it’s Geralt we are talking about. What could be bigger and scarier than him?” He wondered aloud still not leaving the mare’s side when there was a sharp noise coming from behind him and Jaskier’s whole body shivered and he nearly dropped his dear lute on the ground.

“What indeed.” Geralt smirked as he saw the brunet’s frightened face when he stepped on a twig behind the bard and the poet spun around on his heels like someone who was waiting for some monster to devour his soul.

“Fuck, Geralt, I should put a bell on you.” Jaskier shrieked as soon as his wide eyes met the yellow gaze and his heart fell back into his chest from his throat where it was beating just a moment ago. “You walk around like a ghost. Poor Roach here nearly fainted.” He let out a small, forged chuckle as he patted the horse’s side and earned an annoyed snort from the animal.

“Yeah, she looks terrified.” The witcher hummed in a rather sarcastic tone but Jaskier decided to let it slide for once. He was just happy he wasn’t alone anymore. As much as he liked Roach he felt safer when Geralt was around as well.

The witcher threw the firewood he collected on the ground and wasn’t wasting any time, he started building the fire. He was talented at that and Jaskier liked to watch and sing while the mutant stacked the twigs and sticks and bigger pieces of barks together. He always built it in the same shape, like it was a ritual for him and this small unimportant information made Jaskier smile. He sat down on a rock looking at the white-haired man who quickly finished the neat pile and now came Jaskier’s favourite part.

Geralt cast the spell Igni and orange flames were coming out of his palm and fingers. It was mesmerizing. The bard loved how strong the witcher was and not just physically but magically as well. Each time Geralt used a sign Jaskier’s breath was taken away and he was only able to stare at the captivating man.

“I will never get used to that.” He said and the mutant looked up at him as he closed his fist and the fire now was taking over the small stack of woods. “How many spells can you do?” Jaskier asked as Geralt sat down on a bigger piece of wood as well and poked the burning logs with a long stick.

“Not enough.” He grumbled and the bard just laughed at that cryptic answer.

“Can every witcher use magic like that?”

“Only the good ones.” Geralt muttered and the poet had a wide grin on his face before he sighed.

“I wish I could do that. Or any of that.” Jaskier said gesturing towards the mutant with his long fingers and Geralt narrowed his golden eyes. “I meant the fighting. It’s somewhat lovely to watch you wield your swords Geralt and I wish I would be any good at that.” Said the brunet as he looked into the flames and shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I should’ve paid attention when my father tried to teach me how to fence.”

“You’re a bard not a warrior.” The man stated the obvious and Jaskier nipped on his bottom lip before answered.

“Yes of course and I never will be a soldier but it would be nice to you know, defend myself without breaking my lute on somebody's head.” The bard murmured and Geralt’s confusion just grew by each passing second. If it was something that was bothering the bard, why wasn’t he saying something before? He never thought that Jaskier felt unsafe around him and even the idea of it was making his stomach twist.

“I could teach you.” The witcher said it out loud before he thought it through and winced immediately when those blue eyes lifted from the fire and looked at him.

“D-do you mean it?” Jaskier stuttered and maybe he was sitting too close to the heat because his cheeks were turning pink in front of Geralt’s amber eyes.

“You would be more useful if you can use a sword or a dagger.” The mutant rumbled and Jaskier’s smile faltered at the same time as his heart fell out of its rhythm.

“Right. Sure.” The bard nodded but there was something bitter crawling into his flowery scent.

“What I meant was-” Geralt started with a frown and had no idea how to finish his sentence but he was going for it anyway. “this road is dangerous and you are travelling with a witcher. It would be better if I don’t have to look out for you all the time.” Geralt croaked it out and shut his jaw painfully tight when those large blue eyes shined brightly from the flames and Jaskier instantly had that lopsided grin on his face.

_ Worry _ was a powerful word and somehow it didn’t sit right on the witcher’s tongue. He never worried about anyone. Besides Roach of course. Yet this bardling who seemed to feed on trouble and chaos was following him for over, fuck it has been over five weeks and Geralt got used to his presence. Like how you get used to a mosquito buzzing in your ear or when you can’t get rid of a pebble in your boots.

At first.

Now Jaskier was more like just a small chirping bird following him around and flying constantly in circles over his head. The witcher missed being left alone. Missed the silence and peace but he had to admit that having company on the path had its perks.

“I would love that.” The bard whispered with a small smile. “It’s utterly embarrassing to ask Roach to defend me. She is a lady after all.” Jaskier chuckled and Geralt slowly placed the twig he used to poke the firewood and stood up.

“Let’s not do this near the fire.”

“Do what? Oh! You mean you want to do it now?”

“You don’t?” Geralt asked back with a frown and a second later Jaskier was nodding and jumping on his feet.

“Sure. Yes. Of course. Now it is good at any other time. Yeah.” The bard clumsily stumbled over the rock he was sitting on a few seconds ago and Geralt already knew this is going to be a disaster.

He wouldn’t say that Jaskier was hopeless. No. The poet had a good sense of rhythm and he danced well. Fighting wasn’t that different. He wanted the brunet to feel safer around him and he never wanted Jaskier to get attacked again like last time. If he insisted on following around Geralt he needed to be able to defend himself. The witcher won’t be always by his side and being handy with a blade was useful even for a bard like Jaskier.

“S-so are we going to fight with your swords or?” The brunet asked with a hesitant smile and Geralt could smell how excited the other was. His smell was practically sizzling in on his pale skin.

“You remember when you tried to punch me a few weeks ago?” The mutant asked with a raspy voice and Jaskier’s cheek turned into a lovely rosy colour as he looked away.

“Yeah, that was rather embarrassing. Thanks for bringing it up. Very much appreciated.” He mumbled and Geralt just let out a snort as he shook his head.

“We will start with that. No swords for now.” He said and the poet knit his eyebrows together.

“S-so what, should I just punch you?” Jaskier asked with a frown while he placed his hands on his hips and shifted his weight onto one leg. Geralt gave him a lopsided smirk.

“You can try.” Geralt shrugged and the bard’s mouth fell into an offended little gasp.

“Oh, you are going to regret this, Witcher.” He grumbled and Geralt swallowed back a laugh. “What do I get if I can hit you?” Jaskier asked and now it was time for the monster hunter to look confused. “I should get a prize don’t you think? For defeating the great White Wolf.” The poet grinned and it was more feral and mischievous than anything Geralt saw on the poet’s plump lips before.

“What do you want?” Asked the mutant and Jaskier’s sky-blue eyes somehow darkened at that and the brunet nervously licked his bottom lip.

“If I can punch you you have to answer all my questions tonight. With words. No grunts and other absurd noises Geralt and you can’t go to sleep immediately.” Jaskier said with a scowl and Geralt just rolled his golden eyes at him.

“Hm.” He grunted just because he knew the other hated when he did that and because there was not a chance that Jaskier will ever land a punch. The bard wasn’t weak by any means. The brunet was nearly as tall as the mutant and had broad shoulder and well-toned arms. His legs were muscular as well from all that walking but he wasn’t a trained fighter. He could probably throw some punches in a bar fight but he had no chance against Geralt, who could probably kill the poet blindfolded with his arms tied together behind his back.

“Are you ready bard?” Geralt hissed and didn’t miss the way Jaskier shivered because of his tone but raised his fists anyway.

“Are you?” The bard asked with a smirk and launched himself at the witcher.

Bollocks. Geralt was a beast. No matter how hard and fast Jaskier threw himself at the silver-haired man he shut down all of the bard’s furious attacks easily with a single arm. Geralt didn’t fight back either. He just let Jaskier come and charge at him while the witcher slowly walked backward. It was exhausting. Each time Jaskier missed Geralt’s jaw or cheekbones he was aiming for the mutant stopped him and corrected his stance and posture. Quick gentle fingers were running over the bard’s forearms and elbows as Geralt guided him.

Jaskier was getting flustered and because of more than one reason. Trying and failing to do something repeatedly was getting on his nerves of course, but having Geralt strong hands all over his tense body was rather distracting as well. The way the witcher deep voice rang in his ears when he stood close enough to feel his breathing on his neck was maddening. Jaskier tried to focus but it was difficult when the mutant’s golden eyes were now dark and catlike. His traitorous heart was beating too fast in his chest.

Geralt realised that this was a huge mistake. Not because he didn’t want to help the bard to get better at standing his ground and be able to defend himself, but because he enjoyed it too much. Jaskier was relentlessly charging at him and he was rubbing his scent all over Geralt’s clothes and skin. The witcher didn’t mind it and that was a disturbing fact.

The bard smelled like lavender and something sugary and Geralt find himself liking it. Not only on the poet’s skin but on his own as well. Which surprisingly never happened with him before. The only smell he could bare lingering on him was Roaches. He never met anyone before, no royalties, no prostitutes, not even his own brothers from Kaer Morhen could touch him and leave their scent on his skin without annoying him with it. Jaskier was the first human he met whose scent was tolerable for Geralt. Not even that. The mutant actually  _ liked _ it.

Jaskier’s skin was heating up. His cheeks had that rosy colour on them and he had a few droplets of sweat on his temples. It shouldn’t be as distracting as it was. Geralt shook his head and blocked yet another attack.

“Fuck sake.” The bard snarled and stumbled away from the mutant. “This whole ‘helping me out to be able to defend myself’ was just horseshit right? You actually enjoying this!” Jaskier muttered as he glared at the other. Well, Geralt wasn’t hating it. The poet was amusing no matter what he did and the mutant always loved a good old fistfight.

“Are you giving up?” The mutant teased because he liked that small angry twitch in Jaskier’s lips when the other started to lose his temper.

The bard looked like a mess. He lost his doublet a few minutes ago and rolled up his sleeves into the crook of his elbows. He pulled his shirt out the waistline of his trousers and his hair was plastered over his forehead. It was a good look on him. Geralt liked seeing him like this. Without all those manners and royal peacocking, he looked rather lovely…

_ What? _

The witcher shook his head. His thoughts wandered to dangerous places and he had no idea where they came from. Jaskier saw the mutant’s disoriented look and took that chance immediately. The bard stepped closer swung his right fist just like how Geralt showed him. He put his whole body into that one hit and for a second he believed that whatever distracted the white-haired man was going to be enough to help him land a punch.

He was wrong of course. No matter how fast he attacked or how Geralt’s attention was somewhere else the brunet was not good enough to trick a witcher. The mutant’s golden eyes narrowed as he dodged Jaskier’s arm and a second later the bard felt the strong fingers wrap around his wrists and his hand was twisted in Geralt’s grip in a flash.

Jaskier lost his footing as the witcher pulled his arm over his back and the poet found himself being pressed up against the man’s chest. Geralt held one of Jaskier’s arm against the bard’s chest and the other was pressed between the brunet’s shoulder blades. The younger man breath caught in his throat as he was absolutely immobilized between Geralt’s body and arms.

“You’re cheating!” He growled as he lifted his furious blue eyes to the witcher’s face. It reminded Geralt of an angry storm on the Sea.

“Am I?” The mutant asked back and Jaskier tried to wiggle his way out of the iron hold without any luck. Despite his best efforts he was stuck there so close to the other that he could feel the white-haired monster slayer’s breathing on his heated skin. “How so?” Geralt grinned when the poet tried to kick him but they were standing too close to each other to actually be able to harm the witcher in any way.

“I don’t know yet, but you are.” Jaskier huffed and his scent was hitting Geralt in heavy waves.

“You have to learn how to get away from something like this.” The witcher explained and he wasn’t fooling anyone. The bard heard the mirth in his tone. The arsehole was loving every second of this.

“I could bite you.” Jaskier bared his teeth at him and Geralt just snorted. The brunet looked like an enraged kitten.

“Yes, if you want to lose your teeth.” The witcher said with a toothy grin and that shut the bard up immediately.

Fuck. Jaskier tried to free his arm again but Geralt’s grip was inhumanly strong and he was getting flustered. Being this close to the witcher was not good for his heart. He really did thought he could at least wipe that smug look off the mutant’s face. He really thought Geralt will humble him and let him land a punch.

Jaskier clenched his jaw and with all the strength he possessed headbutted Geralt just right in the nose. The iron grip left his wrists in that holy second his forehead collided with the witcher’s face and the white-haired man stumbled backward a few steps. Jaskier's head was throbbing so badly he lost his balance and landed on his backside on the ground while Geralt pressed his palms over his face.

“Fuck!” The witcher instantly cursed as the sharp pain knocked the air out of him. Jaskier blinked his eyes open and looked up at the man who still had his hands over his mouth and nose. Geralt frowned at the brunet whose face slowly split into half as his grin ran from one of his ears to the other. The witcher narrowed his eyes and Jaskier’s triumph was short-lived when blood started to run from between the mutant’s fingers.

“Oh, Gods!” The bard gasped and he was on his feet marching towards Geralt right away not caring about the dizziness in his own head. “I’m so sorry. Did I break your nose?” Jaskier held the witcher’s hands and pulled them away from his face as he yanked out a handkerchief from his pocket and started to wipe down Geralt’s face and neck. The smell of guilt was weighty in the air around them.

The amber glare softened as Jaskier started rambling a dozen different apologies at the same time. His nose wasn’t broken and the bleeding stopped in a few minutes as his mutated body started to fight against the injury but it didn’t interrupt the bard. He kept wiping down every single red droplet from his pale skin and kept mumbling.

“I didn’t mean to. I mean I did, but not like this. I’m so sorry. I thought you will block it.” The poet muttered as he wiped down the witcher’s throat.

“I only have two arms.” Said Geralt in a raspy voice and Jaskier pulled his lips into a pout.

“I know. I thought you will… I don’t know. Do something incredible and just-just witcher your way out of it. I’m sorry.”

“Hm.” Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped away. It was enough practice for one day. The brunet watched him walk back to the fire and sat down on a log. The witcher didn’t seem angry or annoyed if Jaskier wanted to be honest Geralt looked just a tiny bit surprised that he, a weak human, could actually harm him. The bard awkwardly stood there with the bloody handkerchief crumpled up in his fists and stared at the man until Geralt broke the silence.

“Ask!” Came the grunt from the man and the bard blinked at the back of his white head.

“What now?” He knit his eyebrows together and Geralt slowly looked over his shoulder.

“You won. Now ask.”

Those four words were able to put a smile so bright on his face it was outshining their small campfire. Jaskier stood there for a few more moments as the witcher breathed out slowly and turned back to the flames.

“Yeah. Right. Sure. I did win after all. Fair and square. The lump on my forehead is the proof of that and the-the blood and yeah…” The bard jabbered as he tossed away the ruined cloth and with a beaming grin he walked over to Geralt and sat down on a rock on the other side of the fire. “I can feel the proudness of my ancestors fill me up.” Jaskier sighed as he closed his eyes and fanned his face with his hands. Geralt felt his own yellow eyes roll back into his skull as he watched the brunet bask in eternal glory.

“The Fearless Bard who defeated the White Wolf.” The poet snickered and the witcher just laughed quietly as the bardling puffed out his chest and lifted his chin.

“We will see how good you are with a sword tomorrow.” Geralt grumbled and the corners of Jaskier’s lips trembled a wee bit but he put on his brave face anyway.

“Don’t test me, Witcher. Now I know how blood and triumph taste like, maybe I will never be able to stop.” The troubadour smiled and the mutant just gave him an impressed nod.

“The Continent shall fear your name, bard.” Geralt mumbled and Jaskier threw his head back in a wholehearted laugh.

“You never know.” The brunet shrugged his shoulders and the witcher just shook his head. It wasn’t even a minute until Jaskier had his notebook and pencil in his hand and he raised those lively blue eyes at Geralt who braced himself.

The questions were not as ludicrous as he first thought they will be. Jaskier asked about his childhood and what he remembered before the School of the Wolf. The bard was considerate. He could read Geralt very well by now and when the witcher seemed to get uncomfortable he apologies and moved along without a word.

The brunet was frantically scribbling during his  _ interrogation _ . Every grunt and broken sentence Geralt mumbled ended up in his book and he had that eager smile on his face each time the mutant spoke and fucking hell, he did make the mutant talk. Geralt could feel his mouth getting dry and his voice turning rougher as the late afternoon turned into night. It was getting late and before every question Jaskier promised that it would be a last one, only to listen to Geralt’s answer and then ask whatever popped into his mind.

“Alright. Last one. I swear. You look like you will fall asleep in any second.” The poet just sheepishly grinned and the witcher silently wished if he could be as scary as he thought he was. “What would you be if you couldn’t be a witcher?” Jaskier looked up from his notes and his eyes were almost grey in this light.

“Dead.” Geralt grunted and it took a few seconds until the bard face pulled into an unimpressed frown. “You either die while training or you die on the Path. You don’t quit from being a witcher.”

“Yes. I know that and honestly, it is terribly depressing. Everyone should be able to change their life around if they are not satisfied with it anymore but that’s not what I meant. I meant what do you think you would do if you wouldn’t be a witcher? If you would’ve never ended up in Kaer Morhen.”

The question wasn’t so surprising. Geralt thought about it many times before how different his life would be if he never becomes a monster hunter. He often played with the thought but he never went as far as saying it out loud.

“Geralt?” Jaskier's voice was gentle and the mutant knew if he would just grunt something nonsense the bard would take that as an answer and wouldn’t push it any further. But he wondered…

“Maybe do something with animals.” Geralt muttered and it honestly stunned the poet. He didn’t think the witcher would answer and even if he does, he wasn’t expecting something like that.

“I thought you would say soldier or a blacksmith or-or executioner or something like that but this is so much better.” Jaskier smiled widely and Geralt turned his eyes towards the fire. “I can see you as shepherd actually. You would enjoy being left alone surrounded by nothing but nature. Nobody to talk to only the sheep.” The poet mumbled as he was writing down something in his notebook and the witcher felt something warm churning in his stomach.

“Forester.” Geralt said before he was able to stop himself and from the corner of his eyes, he saw Jaskier’s hand freeze and that questioning gaze was back on his face again.

“I can see you doing that too.” The brunet was thinking aloud and a second later he had closed his book in his lap. “Yes, that makes sense. I bet you have a green thumb, huh? Forester. That would perfectly fit you and you smell like pinewood anyways.” Jaskier chirped and Geralt was frowning at him from the other side of the flames.

He did not smell like pinewood. He didn’t have a scent on his own. He always reeked of whatever beast he killed previously and maybe a little bit like Roach after a long journey.

“I like it.” Came Jaskier’s joyous voice again when he saw Geralt’s lips press into a tight, fine line. “You usually smell like blood and whatever monster’s guts you are covered in but under that, there is the scent of pines. It’s subtle. And nice.” The poet shrugged and maybe it was just the shadows dancing on his face or he was sitting too close to the fire, but Geralt thought he saw the bardling’s blush creep down on his long neck as he looked away.

Pines.

Geralt took a deep breath. He could smell the smoke coming from the fire and Jaskier’s lavender scent lingering in the air around them. He could smell Roach and the scented soaps in the bard’s pack. The wet ground and the leaves above them… and there it was. Pines. The poet was right. Maybe Geralt was just so used to it by now he didn’t notice. They spent most of their nights out in a forest covered in pine needles and pine oil.

“Hm.” The witcher sighed and his ears didn’t miss the way Jaskier’s heart started to beat just a tad faster than before.

“Did you ever want a family?” The poet asked and Geralt cast his golden eyes to the bard. He wasn’t holding his pencil anymore. He had his fingers laced together in his lap as he stared into the glowing fire.

“I thought you are done with the questions.” He grumbled with a smirk and the brunet let out a small chuckle.

“Yes. Now I’m just starting a polite conversation. Feel free to ignore it like you usually do.” Jaskier said with a teasing grin and Geralt was considering his offer for a few seconds before he answered.

“Not kids but maybe…” His deep voice faded away but as always the bard was there to finish it for him.

“A wife?” Jaskier asked but the words somehow taste bitter in the witcher’s mouth.

“A partner.” He corrected it and the brunet just nodded with a grin.

“Yeah, that sounds more like you.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. The witcher threw some more wood on the fire while Jaskier grabbed a blanket which heavily smelled like a horse and wrapped it around himself. It didn’t matter, there was nobody he tried to impress and the witcher never cared about his smell. His blue eyes shifted to Geralt and watched as the man poked the glowing embers with a stick.

“Have you ever been in love?” Jaskier asked and he got such a glare from the witcher he nearly felt the daggers in his chest. “Alright. I know. Witchers don’t feel. Whatever. Humour me!” The bard rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket over himself tighter until it was covering the lower half of his face and he could press his nose into the material. He never thought that he will grow to like Roach’s smell so much.

Geralt kept scowling at him for a few more minutes before he closed his eyes and sighed. Well here goes nothing, thought Jaskier only to be absolutely amazed by the mutant again.

“I thought I was once before but it was nothing more than desire.” Geralt’s raspy voice was soothing in its own way and the bard could explode from happiness in any given moment because the silver-haired man finally trusted him enough to share his feelings with him. Jaskier already knew at that moment that this night will be something he will never forget.

“Tell me about it. Please.” Jaskier pleaded softly and his gentle tone pushed the witcher. Or maybe it was Geralt who after all those years wanted to take the weight off his shoulders and burry the memory forever.

“She used to be a princess. I was hired to kill her by a sorcerer but I refused.” The bard’s heart swelled with adoration because of Geralt and at the same time something ugly and dark was waking up inside him as he watched the somber smile on the witcher’s lips. “She wasn’t a good person but she didn’t deserve to die. I tried to convince her to leave the town…”

“What happened to her?” Jaskier asked quietly and the black shadows on the mutant’s face seemed to grow bigger as soon as Geralt closed his eyes and his shoulders tensed up.

“She didn’t listen. She threatened to hurt innocents. I had to kill her.” Jaskier felt his whole body shiver as if the seasons just skipped over autumn and it was immediately wintery frost and wind abusing his skin. Geralt's voice was powerful as always yet he sounded like when someone tried to play on a broken instrument. False and forced.

Geralt just sat there with his eyes closed and tried to think about why this young bardling was the one who he chose to share his  _ non-existent  _ emotions with.

What was so special about Jaskier that let him open up so easily?

The musician slowly stood up without thinking it through and he walked over where Geralt was sitting. The large blanket was dangling off of his arms as he sat down on the same log as the witcher and threw the cover over the leather and spikes coated shoulders. He knew that if it would be anyone else he would probably hug them. But it was Geralt and Jaskier knew that just being there for the witcher would be enough.

As soon as he felt the blanket over his back and the bard’s warm body next to him Geralt’s eyes snapped open. He was ready to push the poet away or stood up and leave but then the brunet turned to him and had  _ that _ look in his eyes.

That look said more than any words could ever. More than anything Geralt would ever sit through and listen. More than anyone ever wanted to tell him.

They sat there silently next to each other under the thick cover until the Moon was high and bright enough to shine through the crown of the trees. Jaskier fell asleep at one point and was now noiselessly snoring on Geralt’s shoulder. The witcher saw that look at what Roach shoot them before the mare turned away and fell into a slumber.

The witcher didn’t sleep at all. He knew that he could easily shake the bard awake and tell him to prepare his bedroll and lay down on it but he didn’t. Geralt sat there with Jaskier pressed to his side until the fire was nothing but heat coming from a pile of ashes and the horizon started to have an orange colour.

No one could ever stir up his thoughts as effortlessly as the poet and then fell asleep a few minutes later like if nothing happened and Geralt knew that there was no one else he would rather listen as they mumbled in their sleep.

That what made Jaskier so special. His effect on Geralt was something that none of them was prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, shut it, I needed an excuse to make Geralt touch Jaskier :"D
> 
> If you wanna talk you can always find me being an idiot on twitter :)
> 
> @doberainbow
> 
> See ya!


	8. Crystal clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks,
> 
> a small, lighthearted new chapter here, because we need fluff to have great angst, am I right?
> 
> I hope you will enjoy it :)

Jaskier’s whole body was aching. The fact that in the past three days they slept in this seemingly never-ending forest wasn’t helping his tense muscles either. Geralt took his training very seriously and even though the witcher cursed and glared at the poet all day long Jaskier knew that the other enjoyed their playful fights.

Geralt was a good teacher, he could easily be a great one as well if he would use more words instead of puffs of airs as instructions. But the brunet was just happy that the mutant took the time to do something together. They never really shared any interests before.

Of course, they both enjoyed fine alcohol but Jaskier suspected that the quality of the drink didn’t really matter to Geralt as much as the price. They also very much appreciated a steaming hot bath after a long day on the road but honestly, who doesn’t? And Jaskier sometimes caught the witcher’s golden eyes linger a little bit longer on the same stunning ladies the bard was already sending flirtatious looks to.

Even if they shared some of their ‘passions’ the difference between them was painfully obvious.

Jaskier adored everything extravagant and outrageously fancy. He liked being looked at, being complimented, and be in the centre of attention, yet he thought the greatest beauty was hidden in simplicity. He just as much enjoyed spending time in the middle of a crowd as he enjoyed laying on an empty field looking at the clouds.

And then there was Geralt who seemed to walk the Continent with his eyes closed. The witcher ignored everything that puts a smile on Jaskier’s face. He despised music and arts. He hated being accompanied by anyone who was able to talk. He seemed to be just fine with sleeping on a rock, drenched in rainwater. He could go days without any proper food and even when they spent their well-earned coins on a finer cuisine he never complimented it.

Each time they passed a magnificent view and the bard had to stop to just stare and live in the moment the silver-haired grump just walked away without even glancing at it. Jaskier sometimes physically had to restrain the witcher from storming away and tell the man to open his eyes and look. Geralt always just whacked his hands away, shoot him a glare, and marched away.

No matter how many times the bard asked the witcher’s opinion about his new ballads and melodies he never got a straight answer. There were the grunts and shrugs and the occasional ‘You should ask someone else’ but never a worthy criticism. Geralt sometimes hissed while Jaskier was composing and the poet accidentally mentioned something more personal and the mutant frowned at him until he found another rhyme and changed the lines.

The brunet had tried slowly to show more and more affection towards Geralt and he hoped that the other will get used to being complimented after a while. He literally threw dozens of buckets filled with praise and adoration onto the witcher daily who seemed to just shake it off and get really frustrated by it.

Jaskier will not give up.

He wanted Geralt to see himself through his blue eyes. He wanted the witcher to walk into the towns with his head held hide not hiding under the hood of his cloak. He wanted the people to know how much the mutant risked each and every day for them. He wanted to shout it from the top of his lungs that Geralt deserved better treatment, a better life, and all the love he could carry in his strong arms.

It was a shame that the walls the other had built around himself were so high and thick Jaskier couldn’t even see where they ended. There was not a crack on those walls, not even the smallest that would let the bard take a peak what is hiding behind them.

All his flattery had ended up in the mud stomped over by Geralt. It didn’t break his spirit though if anything it made him more determined. He wondered how far he could go with his compliments until the witcher does more than an eye roll. He knew that he shouldn’t push the other but he wanted to see how far his friendly teasing could go until the monster hunter draws the line and tells Jaskier that he went too far.

He wanted to know why Geralt was so afraid of being liked or gods forbid,  _ loved _ .

The man was sitting on Roach’s back as usual while Jaskier was strumming his lute behind them and killed the time with some meaningless chattering. Geralt hasn’t said a word all day and the bard was utterly bored.

“Have I ever told you that your hair is truly magnificent in the sunlight?” The brunet had called after the witcher while they were walking at a slow pace. 

As soon as those words left his mouth the mare stopped like it was a gaping hole on the ground front of her and Jaskier’s eyes mischievously twinkled. Well, this is going to be fun.

He kept on walking and as he passed the mute and seriously shocked witcher he could feel how the other burned a hole into his back with his furious eyes. Well, that was interesting. Jaskier turned on his heels to face Geralt with an innocent smile on his lips and nothing could have prepared him for the look on the other’s mug.

The witcher seemed to be so startled and confused he couldn’t even form that little throaty angry noise he usually grunts when Jaskier says something awfully foolish. He was staring at the brunet and could feel his brain just walk away from this conversation.

“Is everything alright?” Jaskier asked and the little shit knew it very well that no, nothing was alright. Geralt silently bared his teeth at him as if he wanted to jump off the horse and sink his way too sharp canines into the poet’s neck to stop him from talking. His jaw clenched and he averted his eyes back on the road. He decided to just ignore the brunet like he did all day.

“Well anyway. I was thinking about this new song.” Jaskier grinned as he saw the little argument go down in the witcher’s head. He wandered close to the horse’s side as he pulled the thick leather strap on his chest until the lute was hanging over his back. “I want to compose a ballad about you.” He cast his eyes up to see the witcher’s sour face with a beaming smile.

“All of your songs are about me, bard.” Geralt rumbled and his voice was rougher than normal.

“Well. Yes. True. Indeed. But I want this to be different. I want this to be about  _ you  _ and not about your heroism and adventures.” He looked up to see the witcher who was already staring at him with a scowl.

“Nobody wants to hear that.”

“Well, I beg to differ. Peoples seem to love my music, thank you very much and it wouldn’t be about just  _ a _ witcher, it would be about  _ you _ .” Jaskier argued and the mutant just clicked his tongue and frowned harder as he could magically change the other’s mind. "Why do you still think that you don’t deserve appreciation?”

Geralt’s lips were now pressed into a tight fine line as he slowly inhaled through his nose.

“I kill for coins. There is nothing heroic about that.”

“Please. I was there when you gave all your coins to the elves in Dol Blathanna. I watched you save peoples many times only to flee from the town before they could pay you. You think you are nothing but a mercenary but to those folks and to their loved ones you are the knight in shining armour.” Jaskier ranted and the witcher had a hard time with listening to him. He wanted to cover his ears but even like that he would be able to hear everything. Of course, he could easily just press his heels into Roach’s side and rode away, but it would be ridiculously childish of him.

“Anyhow, I want to compose a ballad about your scars.”

Geralt felt his stomach twist and tighten as soon as those words left the poet’s pink lips.

“You look like you bit into a lemon.” Jaskier said with a smirk while he studied the sour face and casually patted the witcher’s thick thigh with his palm. “Believe it or not your scars are gorgeous, each and every single one of them and I’m sure people would be delighted to learn a little bit more about you.”

“I doubt it.” Geralt hissed through his teeth and even Roach flicked her ears at that angry sound.

“Well if it really bothers you I will not sing about your scars.” Jaskier said kindly but as the witcher looked down at the poet he saw those huge blue eyes staring at him like a silent prayer and he felt his shoulders loosen up.

“You will do whatever you want anyway.” The mutant muttered and hurriedly averted his eyes when the bard’s smile became too bright and blinding for his liking.

“Do you think it would be too much to compare them to rosy rivers on flawless marble? And you have that moon-shaped bite on your calf that is so pale it really looks like it was painted onto your skin with silver ink and then there is that small mark on your lower back. It’s like a water lily. And that…”

Geralt tuned out Jaskier’s endless rambling and tried to not think about the first winter he has to spend in Kaer Morhen with his brothers after the bard’s songs will reach every corner of the Continent. He will never hear the end of it.

He already heard Lambert and Eskel vocalizing together to harass him for fun in his head. Maybe even Vesemir would join in. The old witcher wanted to be seen like this wise fatherly figure yet he was just as irritating and troublesome as the younger generation.

Or maybe it will be Jaskier who will teach the songs to Geralt’s brothers. It happened sometimes that witchers brought back their lovers and family members to the mountains to hide from the deadly cold. The mutant glanced at the brunet who was still talking without a break.

Winter was still far away, maybe they won’t travel together when the seasons change and it will be the time for Geralt to leave. Maybe their journey will end and he will never see Jaskier again. He only shared six weeks from his long life with the bardling but he already had difficulties to imagine his days without the poet’s constant presence.

It was ludicrous that he was thinking about taking Jaskier to Kaer Morhen. He wasn’t his family. They weren’t even friends just travelling companions. Geralt snorted as he shook his head. The poet probably will be long gone by the time the first snow falls.

He will grow bored or find a better muse. He will see the side of the mutant he pretended to never witness before. He will realise that being with a witcher is a quick way to be an outcast. He will one day wake up and get tired of sleeping on the cold ground. One day he will have enough of Geralt’s inability to have a normal conversation. One day Jaskier will ask himself why he wasted so much time on the mutant and he will leave him.

Geralt knew it will happen and every evening when the bard wished him a goodnight he was wondering about why the bard was still by his side. Every morning when he woke up and looked over their camp and saw Jaskier being still fast asleep and heard his slow heartbeats the mutant thought, this is it, this will be the day when the bardling gets fed up and leaves. But he never did.

Each day was filled with Jaskier’s whining, complaining, and failed attempts to get closer to the witcher. He was loud about how much he hated being hungry and dirty and how much this rough life of the witcher was having a toll on his body. Yet he wasn’t leaving.

“Bard?” Geralt barked and the poet just looked over his shoulder with his bottom lip between his teeth and the witcher had no idea why that made the brunet’s smile even more mischievous.

“Yes, Dear?”

The white-haired man waited a couple of seconds but Jaskier just raised his eyebrows at him. There was no ‘Dear friend’ or ‘Dear Witcher’. No. It was just Dear. Like they were some kind of…  _ partners _ ?

“Don’t call me that.” Geralt frowned and the poet started walking backward again in front of Roach.

“Why? It is a very sweet name to call someone who has never been anything but kind to me.”

“I punched you the first time we met.”

“What? That little shove? It was nothing. I remember how you tried to protect me after that when the elves wanted to kill me.” Jaskier shrugged and waved with his hand like he was just shooing away a bee.

Geralt felt his left eye twitch.

“I left you in the forest after that.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t really know each other back then and I wasn’t that scared. I mean it was a full moon and the forest was really dark and I swear I heard these wolf-like noises but…” The brunet’s voice trailed off and there was this churning feeling in Geralt’s guts twisting inside his body from guilt.

“Jaskier?” Roach stopped when Geralt pulled on the reins gently. The bard’s sky-blue eyes widened because he knew that the witcher only called him by his chosen name when he was angry or when their life was in danger.

The bard glanced around them. Nothing was lurking behind the trees and bushes. There wasn’t anything behind him. Or above him or…

“What are you doing?” Geralt knit his eyebrows together as he watched the poet suspiciously twist and turn on his heels.

“You only call me  _ Jaskier _ if we are in danger or when you are furious.”

The witcher felt like he was punched in the abdomen. He managed to scare the bard by calling him by his name. He couldn’t be a bigger bastard…

He jumped off the mare and stalked over to where Jaskier stood. He could hear the bard’s heartbeat quicken like it was just a startled tiny bird inside his chest. He saw as the brunet nervously licked over his chapped lips and how his scent changed, became panicky as soon as Geralt stood just an arm's length away.

“Why are you keep following me?”

The question was so sudden Jaskier couldn’t do anything just gape like a fish that was pulled out of the water. Geralt was so close in mere seconds and his eyes were so brilliantly golden in the sunlight the poet was afraid he will miss what the other will say because he was too busy with mindlessly staring.

“G-Geralt you know that I’m just-”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t know why you are still here.” The mutant interrupted and Jaskier closed his mouth so fast his teeth clanked loudly. “I hit you, I left you in a forest with werewolves I-”

“You came back for me though.”

“I wanted to get rid of you, Jaskier. Many times.” The words spilled out of Geralt’s mouth were harsh and the bard could already feel his throat getting tighter by each passing second, but there was something else as well. The witcher’s voice was nothing like the rude things he was saying. It was rough as always but it didn’t have that sharpness in it. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded confused like someone who was hopelessly trying to find answers for something beyond comprehension.

“Geralt what-”

“Why are you here? You hate sleeping in the forest. You need a crowd and applause. You don’t get any of those when you are with me. They are chasing us out of towns with pitchforks.”

“That only happened once.” Jaskier tried to interrupt but Geralt was on a roll and he didn’t let him speak.

“I barely fucking talk. I’m trying to push you away and make you leave since I met you. I’m a monster, Jaskier. Everything they say about witchers is true and you pretend not to hear it. You are so stupidly blind and-”

Geralt didn’t see the punch coming. He only felt Jaskier’s bony knuckles smash into his cheekbones and his head rolled to the side with a boisterous crack of his neck. The witcher could feel the waves of the hit ran across his nerves and how his body immediately started to heal his skin, numbing the pain in his bone.

Did the bard just punch him in the face?

“Melitele’s perky tits! Fuck Geralt, are you made of metal?” Jaskier shrieked as he tried to shook the soreness out of his right hand. The mutant had to blow his long hair out of his eyes as he straightened his spine again and turned to face the groaning brunet.

As soon as their gaze met Jaskier stopped stomping his feet and the curses were swallowed down. His eyes were focusing on Geralt’s pale lips. Especially on the small cut on his plump bottom lip. The witcher frowned as he wiped his long fingers over his mouth and saw the few droplets of blood on the tip of his fingers.

Jaskier hit him so hard he accidentally bit himself.

“A-are you alright? Here, let me just...” The bard moved closer quickly and strong hands were holding Geralt’s jaw and twisting his head so the poet could get a better look on the cut. The brunet pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and for a second the witcher wondered how many of those fancy, embroidered cloth the bard owned.

The first small touch made him wince and if Jaskier wouldn’t have held his face so stubbornly he would’ve managed to move away and slip out from the bard’s grip. It wasn’t the pain that made him flinch away, but Geralt never had anyone touch his lips with their fingers.

Kissing wasn’t foreign to him but it wasn’t something he truly enjoyed. Sex was nothing but a need to calm down his raging soul. He never really took the time to get lost in somebody else’s body. The last person he kissed was Renfri and even with her, it felt too intimate. Too pure. Too bare.

Now as Jaskier wiped down the blood gently of his skin Geralt mind helplessly walked onto dangerous territory.

He saw the poet flirt and whisper sweet nothings into different maidens’ ears many times. The witcher never really paid close attention to how Jaskier enchanted the ladies but occasionally he watched the bard pull those girls closer to him and his sly smirk turned into tender kisses.

Geralt always excused himself when the bard found his partner for the night and never really thought about what was the young man doing with those eager ladies. But now as the brunet stood so close and his flowery scent snaked its way into his lungs the white-haired man couldn’t help but wonder. How would it feel to be on the receiving end of those teasing words and clever fingers?

Geralt blinked. It was an undiscovered part of his brain filled with needs and desires he never even knew he had.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s careful and soft voice dragged him back to the present.

“You punched me.” The mutant stated the obvious with such a befuddled look the troubadour just chuckled as he moved back after brushing his thumb over the growing bruise on Geralt’s left cheek.

“You deserved it.” The bard shrugged and placed his hands on his narrow hips when the mutant’s frown lines become deeper and more visible. “I asked you to never talk about yourself in that way, Geralt. I asked you if you are a monster then what does that make me? Don’t try to take my beliefs away, please or if you do then I will punch you again, even if it breaks my hand.” Jaskier raised his chin and shoot a challenging glare to the witcher who just glared back at the young man.

Take away his beliefs. It sounded so theatrical and dramatic. It was of course something Jaskier would feel and say.

“You are getting better at aiming.” Geralt mumbled and after a moment of confusion, the poet's lips stretched into a toothy grin.

“Am I?” Jaskier perked up and the witcher just snorted. “I mean, of course, I am. We are practising every single day so it makes sense but I would rather use my terrifying strength on someone else if you don’t mind.” The bard winked playfully and the mutant pressed his fingertips into the bruised skin on his cheekbone with a smirk.

“Hm.”

Geralt slowly walked back to Roach who was so fed up with their endless banter she shoots a judging glare to the witcher who just pet her snout as a half-arsed apology. Jaskier pulled the lute over his chest and slowly strummed a cheerful melody as the mutant hopped back into the saddle.

“Just so you know I have many reasons to accompany you on your heroic journey, Geralt.” The bard said loudly as they started walking but he didn’t look over to the monster slayer so he could freely frown at the brunet’s broad back. “So because we are still far away from wherever Roach is leading us I will elaborate and list all the things I found charming in your morose, irritable, grouchy-”

“There is no need for that.” Geralt interrupted hastily but this time Jaskier did look over his shoulder and sent a malicious grin to the witcher.

“Well then feel free to ignore my voice because otherwise, you have to listen to me while I clarify why I think you are so spectacular.” The poet laughed wholeheartedly and the witcher let the corners of his lips turn skywards as he watched the young man march in front of him.

“Careful bard, might one think you have an obsession.”

“Obsession? Please. We call that inspiration, Geralt.” Jaskier huffed with pretended annoyance and the mutant shook his head with a grin. “First and foremost your need to sacrifice yourself for everyone you ever met is truly bold and gutsy even if your life worth just as much if not more than others.”

“My life is worthless, Jaskier. I am nothing but a pawn on a chessboard.”

“Well, if we are talking about chess, my Dear, you are undoubtedly the queen.”

“And what would you be if I am the queen?” Geralt asked back in a mocking tone but the bard response came quickly and just as sharp as ever.

“I am the king of course. The one you have to protect, the most important piece on the board and the most useless as well.” Jaskier sent him a dazzling smile and the witcher laughed at the other’s twisted self-praising.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You made a witcher bleed this week.” The mutant pointed it out and the bard matched his steps to Roach’s to be able to walk next to the silver-haired man.

“Twice. Don’t forget that part. I made you bleed twice and if you ever tell my heroic tales to anyone do not mention how guilty I felt afterward. Tell them that I was fearless and rode into the sunset on a wild horse or something. Don’t say that I nearly passed out from the pain in my hand after I punched you.” Jaskier snickered and looked down on his slightly swollen red knuckles. “I’m sorry I hit you.” The brunet said silently and lifted his impossibly blue eyes to the witcher.

“I deserved it.” Geralt shrugged but the bard just made an unhappy face at that a clicked with his tongue.

“No, you didn’t. You just made me angry. It was foolish and absolutely negligent from me to attack you.” Jaskier sighed and it really bothered the mutant how much he hated the other’s voice right now.

“I’ll live.” He grunted and the bard just groaned loudly like a frustrated bull, stomping with its hooves.

“No, I know. I know it probably hurt me more than it hurt you but I shouldn’t have raised my hands on you. I apologise but please don’t talk about yourself like that again. Ever. It kills me to see you belittle everything you do. The way you just look at yourself makes my heart ache, Geralt. H-how am I supposed to change the people who can only see the Butcher of Blaviken if you pretend to be that person.”

“I am the Butcher of Blaviken.” Geralt said lowly and Jaskier’s prickly eyes and frown became really pointed and angry.

“Why did you kill those people?” The bard asked quickly and there was this tiny growl in his throat that the mutant only heard when Jaskier was singing particularly passionate lines in his songs.

“Because I had to.”

“Did you enjoy it? Killing them all.” The question came even faster than the previous one and the witcher found himself to be left speechless. “You didn’t, right? You had to kill them to protect innocent lives. Even if they weren’t monsters but just humans you did what you had to do.” Jaskier’s voice carried on and Geralt didn’t dare to look down and find those fiercely glowing blue eyes on him. No. He kept his gaze strictly on the dusty road in front of them.

“Humanity is doomed if we judge everyone before we listen to their side of the story.” The poet mumbled and for a second Geralt felt like he swallowed a bucket of sand. His body felt so heavy and he was waiting for Roach to collapse under his weight but the mare just continued walking as nothing happened. Unaware of the mutant’s shivers.

Jaskier’s words had such an impact on him at that moment he realised why the bard kept following him. It was clear as crystal and the silver-haired man was ashamed because it took him all this time to understand that the bardling really didn’t have any ulterior motives.

“Well, I have you now.” Geralt spoke quietly and glanced down to see a wide smile spread easily on Jaskier’s lips like a forest fire. “To tell my side of the story.” 

“Yes indeed. It would be you know a wee bit easier if you would actually  _ share _ it with me but after six weeks I’m actually getting better at creating a story with those little material crumbs you leave behind.” Jaskier teased and the mutant just shook his head with a grin. “So if you feel like it one day, any day, that the time has come to open up yourself to your dearest friend, I would immensely appreciate it.”

“We are not friends, bard.” Geralt grunted but there was no bite behind those words and Jaskier was grinning as well as he rolled his sparkling blue eyes.

“You know one day you have to admit that you enjoy my company and that day my  _ friend  _ I will hug you so tightly you will never want to let go of me.”

“Don’t threaten me, bard.”

“Even someone like  _ you  _ need some kindness every once in a while and I bet you don’t pay those ladies to say nice things to you all night long.” Jaskier rambled and the monster hunter heard the little cheekiness in the brunet’s voice.

“Do you need some tips on how to occupy your lovers  _ all night long _ ?” Geralt threw back the bone and the bard’s thoroughly shocked and offended face was brilliantly flushed.

“Excuse me I do not have to pay for company unlike you. So if anyone needs some advice here it’s you, Witcher.”

“Whores don’t expect a morning after or something a witcher can’t give.” The mutant said bluntly and the sarcastic snore coming from the poet was something he couldn’t foresee.

“Please. There is someone special out there for you as well and I hope your fantastic manners won’t scare them away before they could see behind those walls you built around yourself, Geralt.” Jaskier grinned up at him and Geralt only lifted a sceptical silver eyebrow at that.

“Don’t hold your breath, bard.” He laughed dryly and the poet’s proud grin was so satisfied like a cat whose belly was full after lunch and warm from the sunlight.

“You know I could hold a note longer than anyone in my class in Oxenfurt.” Jaskier bragged and it quickly reminded the witcher how young the other man truly was. He was barely out of the academy still he was spending his early years here with the Butcher of Blaviken wandering in this gloomy forest like he was living the dream. “Even bloody Valdo Marx nearly suffocated as he tried to beat me, that absolute arse.”

Geralt frowned and as soon as Jaskier saw that confused face he lightheartedly chuckled.

“Valdo Marx is my nemesis, Geralt. He hates me since I was chosen as the main singer in the school’s choir in our first year. That egregious ferret can’t sing a single note in tune yet he blames me for his awfulness since the day we met.” The bard fumed and the witcher had to bit back that snarky smirk that tried to show itself on his lips.

“Who knew bards have enemies.” He wondered aloud and the poet just nodded his head eagerly.

“Right? That cumberworld. He had the cheek to steal my ballads and perform them all over Temeria. He is nothing but a thief.”

“What a monster.” Geralt sighed and Jaskier shoots him a furious look.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” The poet scolded him and the mutant felt the need to ruffle his feathers a little bit more.

“I’m starting to sympathize with Valdo.”

“Don’t you dare!” Hissed the bard so venomously even Roach flinched as she heard the snake-like sound escape from the brunet’s mouth. “Valdo Marx is the most vile, poorest excuse of a human being I have ever met. If I could I would snatch that witcher medallion of yours and see it myself if it tells me what kind of monster he is.”

Geralt laughed at how Jaskier rattled his own cage and got himself so worked up and livid. Peoples often couldn’t see beyond the bard’s winks and jolly songs and they missed how this young bardling was so chockfull of emotions he could barely hold them inside his body.

When Jaskier felt something he felt it with his whole being. His voice cracked when he was dancing on the edge of crying. His throat made that feral rumble when he was blinded with fury. He always licked his bottom lip when he tried to hide his nervousness but he ran his tongue over his top lip when he was eager and excited. Even his scent was singing his emotions clear and loud just as the bard himself. The only mystery was that sweet sugary smell that sometimes overpowered the lavender.

That was a scent Geralt still couldn’t place anywhere. It took over Jaskier in mere seconds in any situation and lingered around the brunet until the witcher’s mind was clouded by it. He couldn’t identify the emotion behind it, but he knew that it was probably his favourite scent on the poet’s skin.

“Maybe we should find this evil bard so I can take a good look at him.” Geralt offered and those huge, round eyes were meeting his own amber ones immediately.

“Geralt, my dear friend, I know you don’t hurt humans, but I swear to Melitele Valdo Marx is not human in any shape or form. If there is a monster you need to hunt down it’s him.”

“Not your friend.”

“Sure. Right. Silly me. Travelling companions. Sorry, our heart to heart conversation gave me the wrong idea.” Jaskier huffed and Geralt knew that he shouldn’t find the other so amusing while he was bitter and bothered. “Anyhow, the day when you find any compassion towards your fellow traveller I happen to know which royal court Valdo Marx wormed his way into.”

“Hm. I will keep that in mind.” The mutant hummed quietly and that small childish smile on those rosy lips and those bright, painfully blue eyes were something that made him agonizingly uncomfortable.

He would rather have Jaskier punch him again than look at him like that. It was less painful and less confusing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to say thank you to @Chrystelle1 who is always leaving so amazingly kind comments!!!  
> Thank you Dearest!
> 
> I hope you all are having a great week, if you wanna chat you can find me on twitter rambling about anything and everything.
> 
> @doberainbow
> 
> Love you!!!


	9. Between his palms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey my Peeps!
> 
> I hope you all are having a great weekend!
> 
> Here is another chapter. Sorry for the delay but I just started my new job and I don't have much time to write these days.
> 
> Well anyhow, I hope you gonna like it~~

They were on their way to Mirt. The village was just at the foot of the mountains surrounded by forests as far as the eye can see. As always in the past seven weeks, Jaskier was walking next to Roach and babbled about something he saw earlier on the road. Geralt tuned out his voice over thirty minutes ago, and now he occasionally huffed or let out a puff of air through his nose to pretend that he was listening. He didn’t hate the bard’s constant chatting, he was far from it. It became a sort of lovely background noise.

Jaskier’s voice was like listening to the waves crashing on the beach or the fire crackling and sizzling in the middle of the night. It was calming and rather melodic. Even Roach snorted occasionally, and the poet gave her a small pet each time the horse responded to his stories.

“Geralt? Geralt, are you listening?” Jaskier looked up to see the witcher sit in the saddle with his eyes closed and wearing his usual frown.

“Hm.” The mutant didn’t even bother opening his eyes, he could feel the brunet’s glares on his face no matter what.

“Alright, then what was I talking about?”

“Something unimportant, I assume.” Geralt rumbled and peeked from under his eyelids to see the young man cross his arm over his chest and put on an offended pout.

“Rude as always. I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Neither do I.” The witcher smirked as the bard pressed is his lips together in a subtle, tight line and rolled his eyes.

“So, what are we hunting for today?”

This was another thing Geralt really admired in Jaskier, the brunet could change his mood in a blink of an eye like he was an actor performing on stage. And the witcher knew how genuine it was because he could smell it on him. The brunet could let things go, and he didn’t hold a grudge against anyone. This ‘friendly’ bantering between them was just something they passed the time with.

“Are you ready to fight a kikimora, bard?”

The quick swallow that followed Geralt’s question was audible even with human ears, and Jaskier’s hesitant grin was confirming his concerns.

“Well, if you would let me practise with a sword, I would be more useful.”

“You don’t have to be useful, just be safe.” Geralt answered, and he only knew he said something awfully stupid or terribly wrong because of the change in Jaskier’s heartbeat.

The witcher glanced to his side to see the poet chewing on his bottom lip with a scowl on his young face. The bard’s scent was now changing rapidly. He caught whips of confusion, fear, regret, and then waves of happiness. Humans were too complicated, and Geralt couldn’t just rely on his senses to know what was bothering Jaskier.

“Did I…” The mutant stopped as soon as those radiant blue eyes looked up at him. “You smell sad.” Geralt blurted it out, and his whole body cringed when he said those three words. Jaskier’s features changed as well from an astonished face to a scrunched up nose and disturbance.

“The fact that you are able to  _ smell  _ my mood like a hound is not as charming as you think, Geralt, but no, I am not sad.”

“But you-” Geralt tried to argue, but the broad grin on the troubadour’s face caught him off guard.

“I’m not sad or maybe a little, but not because of you. I just realised something, that’s all.” Jaskier shrugged like he just wanted to brush off this conversation, but for the first time they have met, the witcher was waiting for the poet to elaborate. He didn’t like this scent linger on the young man, and he would moderately enjoy it if it would disappear once and for all.

“What?”

“Huh? What was that?”

“What did you realise?” Geralt hissed through his teeth, and that little amused, smug smirk on Jaskier’s lip was awfully pompous.

“I realised that even if you  _ ‘don’t care,’ _ you are the first person who actually gives a damn about me.”

That one sentence was like a slap on the face for multiple reasons. Hearing that Geralt doesn’t care about Jaskier was horrifying even if both knew that wasn’t the entire truth. But the fact that Geralt, who was an emotionally scarred man, was the person who cared for the bardling the most was heart-breaking and terribly paralyzing.

The witcher didn’t want to carry this burden, yet he couldn’t help but feel awarded by this nameless little title.

** The one who cares about Jaskier the most. **

“Don’t look so frightened, you are doing a great job, my Dear.” Jaskier chuckled, and Geralt pulled a sour face at that as the brunet patted his left knee, and his warm palm hovered over his leg for a tiny bit too long to be by accident. “Even if you try to deny it.” The poet winked at him, and the witcher knit his eyebrows together and silently bared his fangs at the cackling youngster.

“You said I don’t have to be useful, just be safe, right?” Jaskier asked, but he wasn’t really waiting for an answer. “It made me think about how my parents never cared about me. I have an older brother, you know. He will be the head of the family one day. He and his perfect wife and children and then… then there is me. Don’t get me wrong, I love them, even if I was the freak of my family.”

Even if the bard was smiling, there was this unbearable pain and suffering in his voice. Roach stopped walking. Geralt never told her to stop, the mare just knew better. She felt the change in the air. She felt the difference in the mutant’s posture.

“I know they were happy when I left. I know my parents are happy that I don’t give them any more trouble, I’m not there to drag their name through the mud, but it hurts. I… All I ever wanted is to just make music, why is that so terrible?”

The mutant knew it wasn’t a question waiting for an answer. It just hangs in there between them, finally not eating the bard from the inside, but Geralt couldn’t let it go without a reply.

“There is nothing wrong with that, bard.”

The brunet’s reaction was immediate. Those glassy eyes were on the monster hunter instantly, and Geralt tried his hardest to force his muscles into a gentle smile. He was glad there wasn’t a mirror to see his failed attempt to look anything but grim, but as soon as Jaskier breath hitched in his throat, he knew that maybe he wasn’t as unsuccessful as he thought.

“There is nothing wrong with you either.” He mumbled and pressed his heels into Roach’s side gently to nudge the mare into walking. Jaskier fell behind and needed a couple of seconds to catch up with Geralt.

“You know behind all that brooding, grumpiness, and witchery sulking you are such a sweetheart.” Jaskier shouted after him with laughter in his voice, and the silver-haired man turned back to shoot a murderous look over his shoulder.

“Don’t push it.” Geralt snarled, and the poet just giggled and raised his palms in defence.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He grinned and jogged after the witcher. “But thank you.” Those last three words were more silent than a whisper, but it was enough for the mutant to hear them.

“Hm.”

“So what about you, partner? Any sad childhood stories you want to share besides the, you know, witchering since we are having a heart to heart?”

“I’m afraid you won’t sing about that any time soon, bard.” Geralt said with a smirk, and the poet threw his head back with a laugh. From the trees' crown, dozens of birds flew away from the echoing noise, and the flapping of wings filled the witcher’s ears.

“It was worth a try, though.” Jaskier giggled and pulled his lute over his chest. “Well, any request?”

“Blessed silence?” Geralt looked down at the bard with a smirk, and for a few seconds, the brunet seemed like he was considering his wishes.

“Nah. I’m afraid not. How about something new? I’m working on this for a while now, and you know that you and Roach are my favourite critics, so...” Jaskier mumbled as he played some chords on his lute, and the witcher didn’t miss the way as the poet peeked up to him from behind his thick lashes.

Mirt was like every other gloomy little town they passed through since they travelled together. Folks were just as unwelcoming as everywhere else. Geralt pulled his hood over his face as far as it went, and even if Jaskier told him he shouldn’t do that, the witcher ignored him. Jaskier threw grins and small compliments to the people giving them the nastiest looks to try to ease their fright and pranced around the mutant in circles with his most charming smile he could put on.

“Are you done peacocking?” Geralt said as the bard giggled while he threw a kiss to a busty blonde woman.

“Not even close. Why?”

“You are drawing too much attention.” As soon as he said that out loud, he realised the irony behind those words, and Jaskier’s wide eyes and confused look were rightfully judgemental. Geralt frowned, walked towards the inn, pulled Roach with his left hand, grabbed the bard by his doublet, and dragged him with his right.

The witcher needed to talk with some farmers to get the location of the kikimora nest, and in the meantime, Jaskier stayed behind to entertain the depressing crowd of people in the bar. It only took him two songs to get the folks dancing with him and clapping to the rhythm of the melody. The coins were thrown into his lute’s case like it was raining. Jaskier’s grin was wide and toothy as he sat on a table and shimmied closer to a group of girls who were whispering and giggling when his lines become a tiny bit cheekier.

When Geralt pushed the tavern’s door open, he saw the bard standing on a table with his lute in his arms while holding a high note for impressively long seconds. The brunet’s cheeks were flushed red, and he already got rid of his doublet while the mutant was gone. The teal shirt was tucked into his trousers, making his narrow waist and broad shoulders stand out as the thin material hugged his toned body. Nobody looked at Geralt as he walked to the corner where Jaskier’s belongings were, the folks were too busy staring at the poet who yelled and urged the crowd to join him for the last verse of the song.

He ordered two beers and sat down in the darkness as Jaskier bowed and thanked the applause. The grin on the brunet’s lips was lighting up the whole gloomy tavern, and Geralt could smell his pride and happiness from over the other side of the room. Jaskier filled his pockets with coins, and his trousers slid down on his waist as he walked over to the witcher. The monster hunter pushed the pint over the table, and the poet’s reaction was fast as always.

“Oh Geralt, it took me seven weeks to get there, but I am there, right?” He asked with a chuckle, and Geralt frowned as a reply.

“Where?”

“In your heart, of course.” He threw a lewd wink to the man who just rolled his eyes as he took a large sip from his ale.

“Drink your beer and shut up, bard.” Geralt grumbled into his cup, and Jaskier just hummed as he licked off the white foam from above his top lip. That tiny movement of that pink tongue caught the witcher’s attention like he was a hawk hunting for its prey.

The poet was absolutely unaware of how Geralt was staring at him. No. Not staring but downright gaping at him. The bardling’s lips always seemed so flushed and rosy. Geralt wondered how it would be to touch them, what tiny surprised voice would leave Jaskier’s mouth if… The mutant shut his mouth with an audible clang of his teeth and glared at the table between them.

Did he lose his mind?

Geralt knew that he didn’t enjoy the touch of a woman in a long time, but to have these kinds of thoughts about the troubadour was alarming. Of course, when he used to be youthful and adventurous, he often preferred the company of men, but those years were far behind him now, and he never thought about them.

Geralt shook his head.

It was nothing but a passing thought in a weak moment. The witcher's eyes were just wandering out of seer curiosity.

“What are you glaring at?” Jaskier asked, and the witcher directed his flaming eyes to the brunet. “More than the usual, I mean. What’s wrong, Geralt? Is the ale not for your liking?”

The mutant ignored the poet’s concerns, but the young man was too stubborn to leave him be.

“Come on. Talk to me.”

“Why bother, you talk enough for the both of us.”

“Well, someone has to.” Jaskier shrugged with a smile and dropped his chin into his palm. “When are we leaving tonight?” Asked the poet, and that long sight that came from the witcher just made his smile stretched further.

“Kikimoras are hunting during the night. We leave in the morning with the first light when they are slow.”

“Splendid. I will ask the owner about the rooms.”

Jaskier stood up, and Geralt already reached for his bag to give the bard some coins when the other just shook his head.

“Let me get this, and if you are lucky, I will treat you with a bath as well.” Jaskier said rather cheekily, and the mutant just knit his eyebrows at him and glared as the brunet wandered away with a chuckle.

The young man was a clown. The way he did these sweeping and excited movements with his arms and his face changed from polite to innocent, from joyful to disappointed in a blink of an eye was like magic to Geralt. He never met anyone who was so vivacious and full of life.

Jaskier came back to their table a few minutes later with his lips pressed together from frustration.

“Well, I have good and bad news.”

“Hm.”

“Good news is I got us a bath and warm dinner. The bad news is they only have one empty room in the whole tavern.” The poet pulled a face, and Geralt could feel that uncomfortable, forceful imaginary hand grabbing his throat and squeezing it. The witcher didn’t know why the thought of sharing his bed with the bard was having this effect on him, and he was determined to ignore the feeling and hope it will never crawl up on him ever again.

For a few moments, Geralt thought about seeking out the local brothel and spending the night there, but the bard already used his own coins on the witcher, even though the silver-haired man was as rude as it comes, he will not waste Jaskier’s money.

“Well, anyhow, shall we prepare for the night?” The bard finished his ale in one big gulp, and Geralt followed him with a grunt.

Their room was small. Tinier than any other space they have shared before, yet it seemed that the bard didn’t realise how they bumped elbows and carefully danced around each other while they unpacked their belongings. The large wooden tub was in the middle of the room. It wasn’t a separated area for taking a bath, no curtains were keeping the steam away from the bed.

“It is just a shitehole innit?” Jaskier turned around with his hands on his hips after he finished taking off his boots and now stood barefoot. “But, at least the bed looks plenty big enough.”

“Hm.” Geralt agreed. Even if the sheets smelled stale and the walls reeked of things, the witcher didn’t want to think about right now. But truth be told, that bed seemed rather comfortable, and he couldn’t wait to try it out for himself.

“Geralt, do you reckon we should share the bath? It looks big enough to hold both of us.” Jaskier asked as he folded his doublet with careful hands. The image that was painted in front of Geralt was made the witcher shiver, but it wasn’t cold that run across his back but a warm, almost burning caress. To think about how their wet and naked legs could tangle in the heated bath, how his own skin would carry Jaskier’s sugary scent, and how he could feel the blood rushing within the bard’s body through the water was making his heart beat faster.

“Go first, I have to sharpen my swords.” Geralt spoke, and his voice came out harsher than he intended.

“Suit yourself, but don’t blame me if it cools down before you can enjoy it.” Jaskier shrugged and left the room to order the bath.

Not much longer, the room was filled with clouds of steam. Jaskier stood beside the tub and unbuttoned his trouser on his narrow waist. Geralt focused on his sword. He avoided how the poet’s flowery scent filled the small space, and he breathed in the smell of silver and leather. Jaskier hummed a playful tone, sometimes whistled some notes as well while he submerged, and a loud moan took over his lips.

“Blessed by the gods.” The brunet mumbled with satisfaction as he relished in the heat for a few minutes before he started scrubbing his skin, which quickly had a crimson shade on it. As much as Geralt fought against it, his amber eyes found ways to steal some looks from the younger man.

It’s been only a few weeks, but the bard already changed so much. Life on the road had its marks on the brunet. His shoulders were always surprisingly broad, but now they had layers of toned muscles that weren’t visible before.

Jaskier followed Geralt all day on his feet, carrying his weighty instrument and keeping up with Roach's steady speed. The bard’s long thighs, which were now showing from underwater as the bard soaped up his legs, become thicker. The poet also spent a good deal of time under the sunrays. His dark brown hair slightly lightened up, and freckles started to appear all over his nose, and pale shoulders as it seems.

Geralt cast his eyes back on his sword. He let them linger enough on Jaskier.

Geralt was truly magnificent. Jaskier found himself staring as the man silently lay in the water with his eyes closed and head placed against the rim. His arms were glimmering in the candlelight, and his scars seemed like they were made out of the shine that came from the Moon. It was such a shame that a raw beauty like Geralt was so blind to his own worth.

“I could wash your hair if you wish.” Jaskier said even before he could stop his tongue from forming words. He only saw the back of the witcher’s head, but he witnessed the quick twitch in the mutant’s shoulders.

“Why would you offer such a thing?”

“Because I am a kind person, not like you know the meaning of that word. And because your hair needs serious attention, no offense.”

“None taken.” Geralt snarled, and the grin on Jaskier’s lips was quick to follow.

“And because even like a brute like you deserve some gentleness.” The bard finished his rant and walked around the tub to look into those yellow eyes.

“Something I do not seek from you, bard.” Geralt huffed, and Jaskier just rolled his blue eyes at him.

“Well, your loss. The offer still stands if you change your mind, my Friend.”

“We are not friends.” The mutant hissed and bared his fangs at the poet who just dramatically sighed while shook his head.

“Right. Sure. Just two strangers who share their food, drinks, coins, adventures, baths, and now their bed as well.”

“Hm.” Geralt only grunted and watched with amusement as the young man threw his damp hair back from his forehead and stomped to the door.

“I will fetch our dinner then, Stranger.” Jaskier called back over his shoulder, and if he couldn’t smell so much happiness coming from the poet, Geralt maybe would’ve believed that the troubadour was actually angry with him.

By the time Jaskier came back with the two plates, Geralt already finished with his bath, and now he was dressed in his clean, white breeches. The material was worn-out and cling to the witcher’s wet skin like his leather trousers, only more… revealing.

The bard blinked and smiled at the man while he handed him his dinner, and sat next to Geralt on the bed with his legs crossed, and plate in his lap. Cutlery in these establishments was foreign, and it put a silly grin on Jaskier’s face as they ate their roasted meat and potatoes with their fingers like savages. It reminded him when he was only a toddler and played with his food, driving the maids mad with his messy little paws.

Geralt had a small spot of grease above his top lip, and for a second, Jaskier felt the urge to climb over the bed and wipe it off from the pale skin only to be stopped by his fastening heartbeat. The witcher noticed the change in the other and looked over to see the poet glare at his own half-finished meal.

“Why the sour face?” He asked as he turned away, and Jaskier seemed to be shaken out of his thoughts by his voice.

“Sour? Me? Never. I’m just simply tired, that’s all. Don’t worry about me, Geralt. You know if there is something on my mind, I’m quick to share it with you.” The bard rambled, and yes, the mutant knew it very well that Jaskier babbled about everything and everyone, yet sometimes Geralt felt that the young man had much more to say, but he chose to stay silent.

“Hm.”

While Jaskier was already under the covers, getting in the bed was more difficult than the last time a few weeks ago. Back then, the brunet was nothing but a bardling following his footsteps like a lost puppy. A harmless youngster looking for adventure. Since then, they become companions. Jaskier’s scent and body became familiar, the little noises he made while he slept, his chaotic hair after he woke up. Jaskier has grown on him.

Geralt blew out the candles after Jaskier finished his daily routine of smearing different oils and salves all over his skin. He smelled of mixed flowers, and again it overpowered the stench of the tavern. The bed was already warm from the poet’s body-heat, and it was much appreciated by the mutant’s colder skin.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“What is your most adored memory?”

The question was unexpected, but again it was Jaskier by his side, so it made sense in an odd way. Geralt stayed silent as he thought about his long life. There weren’t many things that brought joy to him. His young years were filled with loneliness and fear. His later years were painful and carried much more suffering.

“I don’t have any memories I cherish.” Came the dry answer, and Geralt could feel Jaskier’s blue eyes on his face as he laid on his back, and the brunet was curled up on his side near the edge of the bed.

“Come on. You must have one. Anything. A woman’s touch. A child’s smile. A friend’s laugh. Something.” Jaskier asked, and even though Geralt didn’t turn his head to look at him, he heard the soft smile on the bard’s lips.

“My first horse.” Geralt spoke, and the boisterous, deafening laugh that Jaskier let out was shaking the bed under them. The witcher looked at the cackling bard and find himself chuckle with the young man.

“I should’ve known that.” Jaskier giggled and turned on his back as well, staring up into the darkness. Silence fell on them. It was much welcomed and quite shooting.

“Promise me you will wake me up when you are leaving, I wish to see your fight.” The bard asked after a few minutes in a soft voice, and Geralt watched as his eyelashes fluttered, and he fell into a silent slumber not long after with a smile on his face.

“I promise.” Geralt mumbled and closed his tired golden eyes, listening to Jaskier’s heart's rhythmical beats.

The sky was still dark when the witcher woke up to something tickling his neck. Jaskier, during the night, inched closer until he was half across Geralt’s body. The bard’s legs were tangled with his own, one of his arms was thrown over the mutant’s chest, and his face was pressed into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Of course, Jaskier would end up being someone who cuddles in his sleep, and without no one else between them, it will be Geralt he curls around.

The witcher breathed in slowly and moved to free himself from under Jaskier’s warm body only to freeze when he had a better idea. A cruel grin split across his face as he dropped his back onto the pillow and loudly cleared his throat.

Jaskier stirred in his sleep, like a cat that was disturbed in its slumber. The bard let out a tiny groan, and Geralt felt those long eyelashes stroke his skin on his chest as the bard awakened.

“Morning.” He grumbled, and the bard’s mumbled something in a yet not existing language as he slowly raised his head from where it laid on Geralt’s body.

The witcher waited, barely keeping the smirk hidden on his lips while the poet gathered his sleepy senses and slowly became aware of his surroundings.

“Oh, fuck!” Jaskier whispered, and his startled, wide blue eyes caught Geralt’s amber gaze. “Bloody hell.” He yelped now with the full capacity if his lungs, which was impressive as he pushed himself away from the man and tried to jump out of bed only to fell beside it when the blanket wrapped around his legs like snakes. Geralt sat up as his skin shivered without the poet's touch and looked over where the brunet was still struggling with the cover.

Jaskier’s mind was scrambled. Way too heavy and slow from sleep but panicking from the way the day started. He could still feel Geralt’s slightly colder skin pressed to his cheek. The embarrassment crashed over him like waves, and he was sure the witcher could smell the shame all over him.

“Apologies.” He muttered as he finally freed his legs from the blanket's vicious grip and looked up to see the mutant watch him with a lopsided smirk.

“Did you sleep well?” Geralt asked, and the mirth in his voice coloured Jaskier’s face and neck tomato-red.

“Oh fuck off, will you?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, but your face did.” Jaskier hissed and stood up with a serious scowl and an angry pout.

Geralt looked incredibly soft in the morning. All those frowns and rough edges disappeared from his face, and he was just simply gorgeous. Jaskier turned away before making a bigger fool of himself and washed his face in the small bowl. The cold water ran down on his forearms, waking up the goosebumps along its way on his skin.

He could still feel those amber eyes on his back as he moved across the room to prepare for the early battle. Geralt followed him shortly and started to lace up his armour. Jaskier was already pulling his boots on when his eyes wandered over to the witcher. Again, the silver-haired man started his ritual of checking his weapons and attire. Geralt was thorough and focused. Like he just disappeared from this world for a moment, and his mind was set to somewhere else where only monsters existed.

“How close am I allowed today?” Jaskier broke the silence, and as soon as the man turned to him, his cheeks were flaming hot again. The pose his body choose to sleep during the night, and cruelly surprised him in the morning was embarrassing. But the bard did many things he regretted or felt shame because of it as his brain recalled the memories. This morning was probably made into the very group of those thoughts that will haunt him until his last days in this world.

… and possibly he will cherish this morning and the feeling of Geralt’s warm, hard flesh under his hands until the day he dies.

“Far enough and hidden in the forest. Don’t come near until the fight is over.”

Jaskier’s smile grew wider as he nodded, and they finished dressing in silence only filled with the poet’s soft humming.

It was remarkable how such a huge man like the witcher could walk around so noiselessly as a cat. It seemed like Geralt was walking on thin air while under Jaskier’s feet, every single floorboard cried out and creaked. The bard quietly apologised when the mutant shoot him a glare as Jaskier stumbled over a dropped mug, and it loudly rolled into a corner of the tavern.

Roach was always grumpy in the morning. The horse was moody and stomping when she had to wake up too early. It childishly made Jaskier smile, especially when Geralt started to whisper sweet nothings to her and promised some treats. How could anyone ever call this man a monster?

“So what’s the plan, Oh Mighty Witcher?” The bard asked as the mutant secured the saddle over Roach’s belly and hopped on top of her at the same time as he frowned at the grinning poet.

“I find the nest. Kill them all. Get the coins.”

“Alright. Simple. Straight to the point. I like it, and of course, I will be there as your shadow to write down your heroic-” Jaskier stopped as Geralt turned to throw an angry stare at him. “Like a shadow from far away. Very far away. From somewhere safe, right?”

“Hm.” Geralt grunted and rolled his golden eyes when the brunet just batted his eyelashes at him.

“Anyways, be careful, my Dear. I don’t wish to write a song for your memorial.” Jaskier sighed, and for a second, the witcher’s guts turned into something icy and heavy. No, it wasn’t the idea of his own death. As a witcher, he was not foreign to the concept of dying.

Being a monster-slayer was like slow dancing with the Reaper.

No. It didn’t scare Geralt.

The idea of someone getting hurt if he dies… well, that was unusually frightening.

He thought maybe one day if he fells in a battle, Roach will be sad for a few days, then someone would claim her as their own, and she would forget about Geralt. Maybe his brothers will share some drinks to honour his memory, but wouldn’t shed tears. Yet…

Geralt looked down to the brunet who was yawning and scrunched up his nose in the process as he covered his mouth, after all, he was a nobleman.

Geralt knew that Jaskier would be crushed if he dies. It put weights on his shoulders; he wasn’t sure he could carry. Until this point, his life was disposable, but Jaskier made his life valuable.

They left Roach not too far away from the swamp when the witcher could already smell the stench of kikimoras in the air. Jaskier was following close behind the man until Geralt pushed him behind a tree. The witcher pressed his pointing finger over his own lips, and Jaskier nodded. The bard wanted to wish good luck to Geralt, but he remained silent as the mutant slowly walked closer to the swamp.

Jaskier had his book in his hands and a sharpened pencil. Geralt was holding his silver sword between his fingers and a bottle of potion in his other hand. The brunet’s heart started beating faster as the man chugged down the liquid and dropped the glass in the tall weed. Jaskier knew it too well what that potion was doing to the mutant, and he couldn’t wait to lay his eyes on those blackened eyes and pale skin once the fight is over.

Jaskier was astonished how careful and deliberated the man moved closer. The muddy water shifted, dark creatures moved fast as they could smell the approaching danger. The bard licked his bottom lip and held back his breath as the man slowly walked into the water. Spidery legs were too fast to follow with human eyes as they appeared out of nowhere and closed around Geralt.

“Ger-” Jaskier covered his mouth quickly to stop the shout leaving his throat as soon as blood was spilled, and the monsters were screeching in anger and agony. Geralt moved so fluidly like he was a ribbon in the wind. It took Jaskier’s breath away how fierce the man was. The bard couldn’t even count how many kikimoras lurked in the swamp; they were so fast and frantic.

Geralt was all strength and raw power. He was slashing and cutting. Punching and kicking those beasts like they were nothing but common muggers on the road. He forgot to write down anything. Not a single word. His notebook fell to the ground with his pencil as he curled his hands over his mouth and cheered loudly. He knew he should have stayed quiet, but his heart was hammering so fast in his chest; he couldn’t just stand still and remain silent.

It wasn’t long until many severed body parts were scattered all over the grass and blood painted the nearby trees and bushes red. Jaskier now yelped and screamed each time the witcher cut off a leg or wounded a monster. It was barbaric and made his stomach turn, but Geralt was so goddamn stunning he couldn’t stop looking.

“Behind you, behind you!” He shouted as the silver-haired man swung his sword in a circle, and another kikimora dropped dead in the water.

“Don’t need your help, bard!” Geralt barked back, and no matter how demonic the other man looked, Jaskier had a massive grin on his face as the drenched, furious man snarled at him.

“Be careful with the big one over there!” He pointed, but the mutant already had his sword go through the beast’s open mouth with a roar. Jaskier’s yell turned into a laugh as he threw his hands up in the air and cheered loudly like a child. “What a show, Geralt. What a brilliant show.” The bard clapped, and as soon as the witcher turned to glare at him, his hands fell to his sides. “A-and of course, great job. Beautiful slay as always. Truly magnificent.” He nodded as the man snorted, pulled out his sword from the kikimora’s skull, and slowly climbed out of the swamp.

Jaskier walked closer and bit his bottom lip as he saw those pitch-black eyes look around the field where the dead kikimoras laid. His white hair stuck to his wet skin, and the bard felt the urge to run his fingers through those snowy locks and held that face in between his palms. He bit his lips and shook his head slightly to chase away that rather lovely idea.

“How many was that? Three? Four?” Jaskier asked as he stood with his hands on his hips and looked over the bodies.

“Five.” Geralt hissed as he kicked a spidery leg out of his way.

“Huh. I can only count four heads.” Jaskier shrugged nonchalantly, but the witcher stopped in his track immediately like he walked into tar. “Geralt?” The bard chirped when the man’s dark eyes widened and lips opened for a howl.

“RUN!” The shout barely left the witcher’s mouth when the water rumbled behind him, and a heavily injured kikimora jumped out of the swamp with an ear-shattering cry and attacked the mutant like it was an arrow shot from the bow. Jaskier stumbled backward, and the time slowed down around them. He could swear he saw the monster stop in mid-air, and his startled sky-blue eyes met Geralt’s black ones before the silver-haired man put himself between the bard and the monster.

Jaskier screamed. They weren’t words of a warning. No. They were only incomprehensible noises bursting out of his lungs before he could move or react. The splash of crimson blood over the green grass in another situation would have been truly stunning, but not when Geralt's blood was spilled.

The witcher fell onto his knees when the strong and fast stinger-like leg of the kikimora punctured through his armour and flesh. The grip on his sword eased as the fatal injury deprived Geralt of his own strength.

“Oh, Gods, no!” Jaskier moved without thinking. He ran to Geralt, and before the sword could have fallen to the ground, the poet’s fingers wrapped around the grip and swung it blindly towards the snarling creature.

The blood on his cheeks was too warm to be from a human. The noise that shook the earth under his feet was too loud and monstrous to come from a human. Jaskier opened his eyes when he felt the beast’s breath on his skin.

“Oh, fuck.” The whisper fell from his lips when the kikimora tried to bite him, but the silver sword that was deep inside its neck stopped him. Jaskier’s arm was drenched in blood. The red liquid ran down and across the blade, colouring his doublet darker by his wrist. The spark left the monster’s black eyes after a few seconds, and it dropped to the ground like a cut-down tree, weighty and lifeless.

The wheezing cough behind him made Jaskier jump and turn around to see Geralt sitting in the grass, leaning against the tree with his back.

“Oh, Geralt. No.” The bard dropped to his knees beside the witcher and held the man by his broad shoulders. Geralt opened his dark eyes, and Jaskier gasped how empty he looked in that second. “H-hey, I’m here. You are alright. Come on, Geralt.”

He babbled. He knew he wasn’t making any sense. His fingers were trembling as he held the mutant’s pale hands between his palms.

“Oh, Gods. T-tell me what to do. Please. I don’t… I can’t. I-I’m useless. Fuck Geralt, you know I’m bloody useless. P-please just…”

The sound that left the witcher’s lips was a choked laugh, and it put the tiniest, terrified smile on Jaskier’s mouth.

“C-come on. Get up, we need to find a healer.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, and the bard wanted to slap him. Shake him up. Punch him until he tells him what to do. How to help. How to save his life.

Blood was oozing out of Geralt’s body too fast. His breathing became shallow, and blood was coming through his open, grey lips.

“No. No. No, Geralt. Look at me! Hey! Look at me, you unbearable, grouchy arsehole!”

The witcher closed his eyes, and Jaskier held his face between his palms like he imagined not too long ago.

His fingers left bloody marks on the snow-white, alabaster skin.

“Oh, Gods, please. Please save him. I’m not one for begging. I lived an unholy and immoral life, but I never asked for anything before.” Jaskier mumbled as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s chest. “Please. I’m begging you to save him.”

The brunet could feel the witcher’s slowing heartbeat under the layers of leather and skin.

He had to do something. Anything.

“ROACH!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I think that was a cliffhanger?!
> 
> Sorry ^^
> 
> If you wanna come and tell me I'm a monster here is my twitter @doberainbow feel free to have a go at me ;)
> 
> See ya soon~~


	10. Tears like pearls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oya oya oya, 
> 
> another chapter here, Loves!
> 
> Enjoy ~~

Geralt’s blood was everywhere, and Jaskier was panicking. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but it was too big and gaping, and he couldn’t see clearly from his tears. He didn’t even realised when he started weeping, but now he felt the drops rapidly fall off his sharp jawline. His fingers were sticky and trembling as a leaf.

“ROACH!” His voice cracked, and his throat started to ache immediately as he shouted. Like if the saltiness of his own tears were able to corrode his vocal cords.

“Come on, Geralt! Please open your eyes! Please, Geralt. Please just open your eyes and tell me what to do!” He pleated as if he was just begging for his own life. And it felt like it.

Jaskier thought in a situation like this, he would feel his heartbeat all over his body. He would feel his own blood just rushing, loudly and rapidly through his veins. His senses would sharpen. His brain would focus, and he could calmly find the quickest solution.

No. His brain stopped working.

It wasn’t like that.

Jaskier shouted and screamed. He shook as if it was a winter storm creeping up on him. He tried to think, tried to act fast, tried to remember, but his own mind failed him miserably. The shock and fear were too massive, too much to handle.

“Come on, you bloody idiot, think!” The bard cursed painfully at himself, wiping the heels off his palms over his eyes.

Geralt’s already impossibly pale skin was losing its colour with each passing second. The blood was now pooling around them, and the mutant’s head rolled to the side, onto his shoulder.

Roach’s quick footsteps as she ran towards them were like if a lightning bolt hit him.

“Over here! Quick!” Jaskier stood up and raced towards the mare. The horse seemed to smell her owner’s blood all over the poet because she started to neigh as if she was just screaming at the brunet.

_ “What are you doing? Help him! You have to save him! Geralt would know what to do!” _

Jaskier didn’t know if it was really Roach’s words in his head, or it was just his disappointed, frantic brain playing tricks on him.

“I know! Fuck, I’m trying. I-I will. I will save him!” He rambled as he ran to de mare and ripped off Geralt’s pack from the saddle, nearly pulling the whole horse with it as well. He was already elbow-deep in the bag when his knees hit the grass again and threw all the witcher’s potions and herbs onto the ground. Roach was breathing into his neck. Nudging and shoving him with her velvety snout.

“I-I don’t know which one would help. Fuck. I-I… Roach, I don’t…!” He had to shake his hands to get rid of the quivering. Roach stomped her hooves like a bull behind him and buried her head between Jaskier’s shoulder blades.

All the potions were lying in the thick grass, and Jaskier couldn’t fucking remember which one he was supposed to use. He tried to remember when the silver-haired man showed him the magical drinks and shortly explained what they do.

He could recall the one that looked like the midnight sky in a glass. He remembered the melted golden one and the dark green liquid as well.

Roach’s noises became pained, and Jaskier looked over to Geralt. There was too much blood.

He won’t…

The young bard closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath. The air smelled like death and fear. He opened his reddened eyes and grabbed a potion, the first one that he could reach.

“This one!” His fingers were slippery and like if they were covered in honey at the same time. He tore the stopper out with his teeth and moved to Geralt.

He held the man’s cheek in his left palm. The mutant’s skin was awfully cool. Roach neighed again like she was just asking, ‘What are you waiting for. We are running out of time’.

And maybe they really do running out. Maybe they already did…

“Dear Melitele, please just let me be right this once, and I will write a fucking anthem to you.” Jaskier begged, and opened the witcher’s soft lips with his thumb, slightly tilting back the man’s head as he poured the green liquid into his mouth.

Some drops escaped Geralt’s parted lips, and as soon as the bottle was empty, the bard threw it away somewhere and wiped down the pale cheeks.

Jaskier hurried and ripped one of Geralt’s spare tunic into two pieces.

“I will buy you new ones I swear just survive this.” He said with a forged smile, and wrapped the makeshift bandages over Geralt’s torso, pulling them as tight as he managed with his trembling hands and twitching muscles.

Jaskier shifted on his knees, and now he was at the witcher’s side, throwing one, heavy, armoured arm over his shoulders, and looked at the mare. He always knew Roach was unique, but now he was so incredibly grateful for how intelligent the horse was as she already lowered her body, and moved closer to Geralt. The mare helped to lay Geralt across her back while Jaskier held onto the man like if he was drowning, and the mutant was the only piece of wood that kept him from going under the water.

Jaskier threw Geralt’s pack over his shoulders and looked into the horse’s round, frightened, brown eyes before he stepped into the stirrup with one leg. He was still holding the witcher, scared that he might fell off and bleed out on the ground from the hit as he pulled himself up into the saddle and swung his free leg over Roach’s back.

The reins were harsh and foreign in his palm. It was a long time ago when he learned how to ride, and yet he felt unusually confident once he was seated correctly. No, he didn’t trust his own riding and navigating skills, but he trusted Roach with his life, and the mare took one glance at Jaskier, and a moment later, they were racing through the forest.

Jaskier thighs were burning as he gripped the horse’s sides with his legs, and held down Geralt at the same time. Roach knew the way back. She didn’t need the bard’s instructions, and the poet just rambled and mumbled praises as the mare ran between the trees. The road back to Mirt felt like it took ages, but somewhere in the still sane and reasonable part of Jaskier’s mind, he knew that it only took them a few minutes. Roach was breathing thickly once they were out of the forest.

It wasn’t the weight of the two grown men on her back, but the fear inside her that Geralt may not survive this day. The same fear that munched Jaskier’s heart as well with a vicious grin and insatiable appetite.

The sight of the first house was like a ray of hope. Like an empty promise, but it was enough for Jaskier.

Roach stopped in front of the porch, and the bard was already out of the saddle with his arms around Geralt. He didn’t know how he was able to support the man’s whole weight. It shouldn’t be possible, but he did. He held Geralt’s waist in an iron grip, he threw the witcher’s arm over his shoulder and dragged the man towards the entrance.

He didn’t knock, he didn’t have a spare hand to do that, he kicked the door open like he was just bursting in there as a burglar ready to fight and kill anyone that crossed his way.

“Please, I need help! My friend is heavily wounded!”

It wasn’t polite to just fell through a door with a bleeding witcher in his arms, but fuck politeness and fuck everything else.

The family who lived there was having breakfast as much as Jaskier could tell. Four utterly confused and affrighted pairs of eyes fell onto the bard as he stood in the doorway like a menace, covered in blood and tears and mud and desperation.

“Please!” He hissed through his teeth because his grip on Geralt’s waist was slipping, and he could feel his knees wobble under the weight he carried.

The small family, precisely a petrified mother, two utterly shocked children, and a father who was ready to defend his family with a butter-knife if needed, just blinked before one of them moved. The Mom stood up like the chair she was sitting on before started to burn her and ran to Jaskier.

“Come quickly! Lukas, clear the table! Ilka run to the healer as fast as a fox. Olga, help me! Quickly!”

Jaskier was sure he started to cry once again as the mother like a soldier shouted orders at her family, and helped the bard with the weight he held for too long.

The father, Lukas, jumped out of his chair urgently, and without thinking twice about their belongings or food, he lifted the heavy, driftwood table until everything that was on it crashed and break into million pieces on the floor. The smaller child, a blonde girl, yelped a nervous ‘Yes Mama’ as she bolted out of the house. Her tiny, rapid steps echoed on the street as he ran to fetch the healer.

As soon as Geralt’s body was laid down on the table, Jaskier stumbled backward until his heels touched a wall, and he lost his balance.

Jaskier fell to the floor with his legs stretched straight in front of him.

“Lukas, boil some water quickly. Olga, go grab as many sheets as you can find.”

“Yes, Mum.” The older girl, with scared, large green eyes, looked at her father before running out of the room, stepping over Jaskier's long legs.

“What happened to him, Son?” Lukas asked as he looked over his shoulder to the shaking poet on his floor in his messy kitchen, who just happened to bring a bleeding man into his home.

“He-he got stabbed. I tried to… but his wound was so… and he was bleeding too fast and-” Jaskier blinked up to the bearded man and tried to form a coherent sentence in his head. “He is a Witcher. He heals fast and… I just… there was so much blood!”

He whispered, and the last few words maybe didn’t even make it through his lips. He wasn’t sure. His tears were washing the smears of blood and dirt from his face in clean lines. His chest was heaving, and he felt like he got trapped under a rock that could crush his lung in any given second.

“P-please save him!” He begged quietly, and even if he was near insanity, he still saw the look the parents exchanged before the mother started to cut away Jaskier’s makeshift bandages.

The world and time seemed to not move in the same direction after that.

Jaskier sat on the floor with his bloodied hands in his lap, and he stared. The people in the room came and went. They moved either too slow or too fast to really see what was truly happening around him. He heard noises, names, shouting, hurried talking, but couldn’t understand a word. At some point, he was sure he was saying something to someone. He could feel his lips moving and felt his throat ache, but even his own voice was too much for him to cope with.

He recognised new faces in the small, chaotic kitchen, and deep down in his head, there was a small thought that ‘Thank the Gods, the healer was here’, but he wasn’t entirely sure. He tried to see, he decided to blink away his tears and clear his view but he couldn’t. He felt like he was standing behind broken glass. Everything was too bright and way too black. His vision was all messed up, and after a while, he just dropped his head against the wall and prayed silently.

He sometimes felt that a person stepped over him, and sometimes he caught someone’s eyes. Time disappeared, and Jaskier felt like that goddamn rock on his chest was getting heavier and heavier, and he didn’t need much until he was gasping for air.

Both his palms were holding his doublet, pulling it away from his skin like if the thin, gentle material tried to suffocate him. He clawed at his own neck as he choked, and his feet were kicking on the floor.

“Easy! Slow down. It will be alright. Look at me, Son! Look at me!” Lukas, the Father, was now kneeling next to him. His face was too close, and Jaskier wanted to ask him to free him from that invisible weight thrown at him, but he couldn’t talk. “Look at me! Your friend will live. Now you need to breathe. In and out. Slowly.” He felt fingers being wrapped around his wrists, and his hands were pulled away from his neck. Lukas had green eyes as well, just like his daughters. His voice was storming in Jaskier’s head, and the bard tried to listen to him.

_ In and out. In and out. _

It shouldn’t be so difficult. He breathed since the first time he cried out as a newborn, yet now his body seemed to forget how to do such a simple task. Like his body just gave up on him.

“Slowly. Like that. With me. In and out.” One of Lukas’s warm palms was on his chest while the other held his jaw. The touch reminded him of his father.

“Geralt?” The first word he coughed up was rough and barely able to be heard, but Lukas’s soft smile reassured him that, yes, he still had a voice.

“Is that the witcher’s name? Geralt?”

“Mhm.” Jaskier just nodded wildly and tried to repeat it in his head.

_ In and out. In and out. _

“Your friend will live. The healer closed the wound. He heels faster than anyone I have ever met before.” Lukas put on a comforting smile, and even if Jaskier’s breathing was still painful and shallow, he talked again. After all, that’s all he always did.

“He is special.” The bard hissed, and he tried to swallow down the unpleasant dryness in his mouth. Lukas’s laugh was now genuine, and he placed his calloused palm on Jaskier’s cheek and patted his pale skin.

“That he is.” The brunet tried to mirror the man’s smile, but his lips felt too chapped and unable to move. “Come get up, you can’t just sit around on the floor in my kitchen. Where are your manners, Son?” Lukas’s half-hearted joke earned him a snort from the bard, and the man stood up and pulled the troubadour with him as well.

Jaskier’s legs felt like they were still asleep. His muscles ached, and he needed to look down to make sure he didn’t have thousands of ants running over his skin. Lukas walked away. He said something to him, he didn’t quite catch but nodded with his head anyway. His glassy eyes went to the table as soon as he realised how quiet the house was, and he felt his heart miss a beat.

The table was empty. Geralt was nowhere to be found, only his blood was there and pieces of fabric from his clothes.

“Wh-where? Where is… Is he?” Lukas turned around with two cups in his hands, and Jaskier needed to get a hold onto the wall.

“We moved him to the bed. Witcher or not, he can’t be lying on my kitchen table until he wakes up.”

That is all Jaskier needed, and he started to march through the house like he had any clue where he was going. The droplets of blood on the floor were like tiny marks leading him towards Geralt, and when he stopped in the doorway where the carmine dots ended, he swore he felt his soul live his body in that holy second.

The room was lit up with dozens of candles across various wardrobes, tables, and flat surfaces. It was clearly a children’s bedroom considering how some toys were scattered over the floor. There was a narrow bed in the middle, just under the only window, and there was Geralt.

“Thank fucking Gods!” It was more like a whine than a softly spoken gratitude, and Jaskier now felt his heart hammering like a caged animal under his ribs.

Geralt was wrapped in clean bandages, actual bandages, not in some ripped tunics. He was still too pale. The potion was working inside his veins, painting black veins and spiderwebs across his skin. Jaskier wasn’t sure he can move any closer to the mutant, he needed to hold onto the doorframe.

“I can bring you a chair if you would like to sit next to him, my Dear.” The voice came from behind him. The mother, whose name the bard still didn’t ask for, was standing on the narrow hallway as she wiped her hands into a clean towel.

“I need to clean up the mess. Your kitchen looks like a battlefield.” Jaskier muttered, and the shame was twisting his guts inside his belly. He burst into a stranger’s home, disturbed their breakfast, destroyed their house, and he did absolutely fuck all to fix it. “I will just-”

“Don’t be silly. I will go fetch a chair for you. Be with your partner, you two both need it.” Jaskier’s face was flaming up in an instant, and it just made the lady’s grin wider.

“We aren’t-we… I’m his friend.” He shook his head, and she just stepped closer and placed a soft palm over his cheek. The poet closed his eyes and found himself leaning into the touch like a child seeking his mother’s warmth.

“I saw many people lose their friends, Darling, and let me tell you none of them sounded so scared and desperate as you did earlier.”

“W-what can I say, I wear my emotions on my sleeve.” Jaskier joked weakly, and it earned a tiny chuckle from the Mom.

“Well, you certainly do. Come, I will show you where you can find that chair.”

Jaskier followed her, Zofia was her name as he later found out, and a few minutes later he was sitting next to Geralt’s bed in a comfortable reading chair that belonged to Lukas. He pulled up his legs towards his chest and linger on the witcher as long as he needed to calm his raging soul.

He needed to just sit and watch the man breathe in and out slowly. He needed to see him being alive and safe for a few peaceful moments. Jaskier placed his forehead on his knees and closed his eyes. He could still feel the claw marks of fear in his skin. Like he was forever wounded by the thought of losing Geralt, and if he weren’t so wickedly exhausted, he would try and write down his concerns on paper.

Not long after, Zofia returned with the healer, an older man with moon-shaped glasses, and they peeked under the wraps to see Geralt’s wound. Jaskier didn’t take a look, he was sure he couldn’t handle the sight, and he turned his head away until the bandages were placed back on his friend.

The potion wore off quickly as well. Geralt’s cheeks finally had a tiny bit of rosy colour on them, and the dark veins vanished from his skin. Jaskier pulled the chair closer to the bed until he could place one of the witcher’s hands in his lap and hold it there between his fingers.

Geralt’s knuckles were bruised and scratchy. The poet felt an inexplicable urge to plant kisses all over the small valleys of bones and caress the scarred skin until all the pain left the mutant’s body.

They were both still covered in blood. Zofia and Olga offered a bath for Jaskier, but he couldn’t move away from the bed. He saw as the pair looked at each other with a knowing smile and left the room without another word.

Roach got taken care of as well. Lukas fed her and moved her to the stables with the other horses.

Jaskier knew he owed the mare with some apology because he didn’t go to see her right away, but he just couldn’t move. The day went on. Hunger came and disappeared, like if his body knew that even if he would eat something, he couldn’t keep it down for too long.

Zofia checked Geralt’s forehead in every hour. He had a mild fever as his mutated body fought with the injury. The hand that Jaskier held was getting warmer. He placed his elbows on the bed and ran his fingers over the small veins inside the witcher’s wrist. His skin was so smooth and white there Jaskier could trace the blue rivers with his eyes up until the middle of the strong forearm. He wanted to plant a kiss there and see if the witcher was as sensitive as everyone else he met before.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, and his lips fell slightly apart. Oh, fuck the Gods.

He didn’t want to hold Geralt as a friend anymore.

He moved back in his chair, straightened his spine, and his bones popped quietly from the stretch.

Zofia’s words were echoing in his head. Could it be? Was he feeling more for the witcher than platonic romance? Geralt was his muse, after all. His friend and companion, but he couldn’t be so stupid that he actually let himself fall for the man…?

No.

Jaskier shook his head and leaned back on his elbows again. It was only the shock and the memories of this morning playing mind games with him. Nothing more.

Geralt as magnificent and charming he was, wasn’t someone that Jaskier would fell for. Of course, as a bard and a person who carried too much love in his heart, he easily got obsessed with someone. With anyone precisely. For a night. It was never longer than that. It could be a noble lady or a bar maiden, Jaskier fell in love with them fast only to wake up and find the emotions gone when morning came.

Geralt was different. He cared about the man as a friend. As his best friend and as a musician would care about their muse. He admired the witcher, and maybe his heart beat faster each time he looked at him. But it was nothing more than his forever adoration towards the silver-haired monster hunter.

Zofia came again to see if Geralt’s fever worsened or not. Jaskier offered to help her clean the kitchen, but the lady just pushed him back in the chair and told him to stay beside Geralt. Not long after Ilka, the youngest child, brought a tea to him, and even before he could thank it, the small kid ran out of the room. The poet didn’t know if it was the blood or the mutant who scared the child more, but he made a mental note to apologise from her once Geralt woke up.

The tea was warming him up from the inside, and he wasn’t even cold. Maybe Zofia brew something into it because he could feel the tension leaving his shoulders, he didn’t realise he had, and his eyelids felt heavier than before. Jaskier placed the empty cup on the nightstand and dropped his head into the crook f his elbow. His fingers were tracing Geralt’s knuckles up and down and back again as his eyes slowly closed.

The young bard fell asleep with the witcher’s hand tucked under his cheek.

His pillow was trying to get away from him… or at least that was what his cloudy brain thought when he got waken up by the movement. Jaskier stirred as his slumber was disturbed, and let out a little huff as he tried to pull back his soothing dream and climb into it. There was a choked out noise, similar to cough, and that did the trick. Jaskier’s blue eyes opened right away. There was no more sleepiness in them anymore. He looked like a startled deer coming eye to eye with a hunter.

He knew his hair was sticking up in mad ways, and the dried blood probably ruined his beautiful shirt and doublet for life, but as soon as those strong fingers moved under his cheek, all those thoughts left his mind.

“Geralt?” The bard’s voice was dry and weak as he stood up from his chair, not caring about the pain in his lower back. The witcher’s long eyelashes trembled, his eyes were moving behind his eyelids frantically, and rapid shallow breaths left his chapped lips.

The room was still dark, but through the window, behind the trees, Jaskier could already see the rising Sun’s amber lights crawling up on them. Almost as golden as Geralt’s eyes when the mutant woke up with a gasp. The hand in between his palms jerked with a shiver, and the witcher’s whole body quivered as the man opened his yellow eyes.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called out his name again, and when their gaze met, the poet fell back into his chair. “Oh, thank Melitele!” Jaskier buried his messy hair into the bed, and without even realising what he was doing, he planted a soft kiss on Geralt’s bruised knuckles. The gesture was so pure and genuine the witcher’s muddled brain barely realised what was happening around him.

The pain in his side was blinding, and he gritted his teeth together from the agony. The whole room was foreign, he had no memories of this place. Everything smelt strange with a mixture of his own blood and…

Jaskier.

He looked at the brunet, and he could only see the crown of his head, and then he felt it. It was like the wind’s caress, nothing more than a silent whisper, a gentle touch of plum lips against his skin, but it was strong enough to numb the pain for a few moments.

“Oh fuck, Geralt, I thought I lost you out there. You can’t do this. I refuse to do this again. From now own you are not allowed to do witchering. We will find an honest job for you, something less dangerous less-”

“Bard?” The poet’s jabbering was cut in half with one rough, broken word from Geralt, and the brunet’s open lips curled into a painfully broad smile. His eyes were glimmering, and the mutant needed to look away, to look at anywhere else because the true happiness behind those blue gems was more frightening than any monster he met before. “Where the fuck are we?”

Jaskier’s laugh was inappropriately loud, considering how early it was, but he couldn’t hold it back. Neither he could hold back those tears that pricked in the corners of his eyes. The bard sniffled, and the way he held that hand should have been painful to anyone else who wasn’t a witcher.

“Still in Mirt. I brought you here after you got injured in the swamp. The family who lives here saved your life.”

Geralt's face was utterly confused, and he slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. Jaskier helped him sit up to ease the pressure on the witcher’s wound, and while his one arm was on the mutant’s shoulder, he was still holding his other hand between his fingers. Geralt winced as he sat up and looked down at the bandages over his abdomen.

“You brought me here?” The meaning of Jaskier’s words just caught up with him, and Geralt frowned at the grinning brunet who was staring at him like a mother watches their child’s first steps.

“Well, Roach did. Mostly. And anyway, have you ever heard about labels? Would it be really that hard to write something on your potions? You know, like  _ ‘Use this Jaskier, this won’t kill me and give you nightmares and guilt for life’ _ .” Geralt’s glare was downright terrifying, and he pulled his hand out of the bard’s grasp. His hand was so warm, and the skin where Jaskier’s lips touched him still tingled.

He couldn’t bear the feeling anymore.

The poet stood back, and he curled his fingers into fists by his sides. The smell of shame and sadness was so thick in the air; it made the mutant look at the brunet. Really look at him.

Jaskier looked tired, exhausted even, his young features were darkened by the lack of sleep and haunting memories he had been through. His hair was curling up in unruly ways. He looked paler than he was before, yet his cheeks were bright red. His fingers, arms, and the sleeves of his fancy and expensive clothes were soaked in dried blood. Geralt’s blood.

It wasn’t red anymore, more like this washed-out brown colour. It was all over Jaskier. Spots of blood on his cheek just under his left eye, on his neck and collarbone, his trousers were dirty at his knees and even filthier around his boots.

“Thank you.” Geralt croaked out those two words as if his tongue was covered in spikes, but nothing could prepare him for Jaskier’s reaction.

The bard’s face fell, mouth agape, his eyes widened, and his tears came in bigger droplets, looking like pearls as they rolled on his skin in the candlelight. The poet bit his bottom lip and collapsed into Geralt’s lap.

The mutant hissed as Jaskier threw his arms over his shoulders and buried his head into the crook of his neck. The bard’s smell, like smoke filled him up and burned his lungs.

“You bloody moron!” Jaskier mumbled into his skin, and Geralt was lost. He just sat there covered in blood and a needy bard. Those brown locks tickled him like feathers, Jaskier stiff fingers dig into the flesh of his back. “Don’t do this to me, Geralt. I’m not strong enough to carry the weight of your death!” Those words were pressed into his neck as Jaskier held him even closer.

Their chest touched, and the mutant could feel the troubadour’s heartbeat through his whole lithe body. Jaskier kept mumbling. Silly threats and curses. He called him names but didn’t let go of him.

And Geralt let him.

He knew the young bardling needed this. He sat there, stared at his own hands in his lap, and let himself be held by strong, quivering arms. He let Jaskier press his face into his neck and ramble.

Geralt closed his eyes and slowly breathed out. All the pain, and tension, all that agony, and confusion, let his body with a single breath. It was a bliss. It made his head dizzy how light he was in Jaskier’s arms.

“You smell like kikimore guts,” Jaskier muttered, and the chuckle that left Geralt’s lips surprised the both of them, and the poet laughed with him.

“You are making me uncomfortable.” The witcher grunted, and the poet unwrapped his arms with a giggle; however he didn’t move far away, he still sat on the edge of the bed, and they were still too close for Geralt’s liking.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you being an arse again.” Jaskier smiled and poked him in the chest. Geralt snarled and slapped the poet’s hand away. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” The witcher groaned and threw the cover to the side, ready to climb out of bed.

“Oh, hell no. No. Don’t move! Stay in bed!” Jaskier launched himself at Geralt and pushed the witcher down, back onto the pillow with his hands on his chest. The mutant grunted, wrapped his fingers over the poet’s narrow wrists, ready to fight him off. “Please, I didn’t drag your witcher arse through the whole forest to let you bleed out once you leave this bed! Stay put, or I will tie you down, Geralt!”

“Fuck!” The mutant cursed and let go of Jaskier’s hands with a click of his tongue. “Fine.” He barked and laid down on the bed like a marble statue.

“Good. Now be quiet and let me get you some water.” Jaskier scolded him, and if eyes could kill, the bard would be in great pain right now. Geralt huffed and turned his head to the side.

The brunet left the room and returned with a cup and a smile on his face that the mutant hated. It made him squirm in his own skin. Jaskier sat on the bed again, even if his chair was just  _ right there _ and moved the cup to Geralt’s lips.

“My arms are working perfectly, bard.”

“Why are you trying to be so difficult?” The bardling snapped at him, and the witcher just glared. “Let someone take care of you for once and drink the bloody water.” Jaskier scowled at him, and for a few seconds, they were quiet until the witcher moved and grabbed the poet’s hand on the cup and chugged down the water. The brunet watched him like a proud mother hen and wiped down the escaped droplets from the mutant’s cheek. Geralt flinched away and earned an annoyed eye-roll from the other.

Silence fell on them after. The witcher stared at the ceiling with his furious, golden eyes. Jaskier sat next to him and fiddled with his dirty sleeves.

“You did really scare me, you know that, right?” The poet’s voice was small, shy even, and he had to swallow that lump down in his throat. Geralt didn’t answer. He laid there and stared up into nothing.

“I know you are not used to others caring for you, but I do. I do care about you, Geralt, and I don’t want to see you getting hurt or killed. And Roach? You can’t leave her. I don’t want to hear her cry like that again.”

“Bard...” Geralt tried to interrupt, but when those blue eyes looked at him, he quickly decided to stay quiet.

“No. Please. I’m serious, and I’m serious about our training as well. It was only dumb luck that I managed to kill that kikimora. I want to be there to protect you when you can’t, and I really hope I don’t have to, but I want to be able to stand my ground.” Jaskier felt his heart beating in every single inch of his body. He was sure that the apples of his cheeks were beet red. He couldn’t hold Geralt’s gaze for too long.

“You slew the kikimora?” The mutant’s voice was confused, but when the poet peeked at him, Jaskier saw that tiny smirk on those full lips and that one single arched silver eyebrow.

“Well, what do you think what happened after you got a new hole punched through you, huh? I cut it down, and well, I will admit I cried for a few minutes before I did anything, but there was so much blood and-and I… fuck, you really need to write something on those potions Geralt because I don’t want to gamble with your life again.”

“I think you rolled that dice perfectly.”

“Stop joking about this, you twat!” Jaskier chuckled and slapped Geralt on his shoulder. The witcher grinned and pushed himself up so he could sit and lean against the headboard. “Promise me, you will be more careful?”

“Bard-”

“No. Don’t. Don’t you dare! You are not alone. You are not someone who can just disappear, and nobody would go looking after you. Not anymore. I know you sometimes wish that I would leave you, and don’t give me that look I know you do, but even if I would leave now, I could never forget you, Geralt. You are part of my life forever. Like it or not.”

Jaskier’s eyes were different now. Geralt had never seen them like that before. That particular colour was new, it was darker, and the emotions behind it were profound. More human, stronger than anything he saw earlier. That sugary scent was filling up the room, and without realising he was doing it, Geralt breathed it in deeply, and he found peace in that sweet smell. At that moment, he called that scent  _ home _ . That word just popped into his head, and he was fine with it, it seemed right.

It fit.

“I can’t promise anything, but I will try.” Geralt sighed, and he heard the poet’s heart skip a beat, and his bright smile easily lit up the whole gloomy room in a second.

“That’s enough for me.”

At that moment, Jaskier wanted to hug the man again, he wanted to make Geralt feel loved and…

Then it hit him. It hit him like he was kicked by a horse with full force.

Jaskier couldn’t handle even the idea of losing Geralt because… because he loved him.

_ He loved him. _

Geralt must have sensed the change in the room. Or maybe he heard how Jaskier’s heart was jumping out of his chest because his eyebrows knit into a serious knot, and he tilted his head to the side as he studied Jaskier.

The panic shook him to the core.

“I-I will go to Roach and uhm, ma-make sure she is alright.” Jaskier stood up like he was a puppet pulled by it master. The strings were tight, and he moved slightly agitatedly.

The bard did not know that Geralt opened his mouth to call out his name but was too late because Jaskier already left the room.

The air outside was crisp. So fresh, it felt cold on his skin even though it was still late spring. Jaskier was shaking like a leaf. He sat down on the porch and watched the Sun come up behind the trees.

His mind was racing. All those songs he wrote, all those times Geralt made him forget how to breathe, all those times when he forgot to look away, all those… all those times when his heart missed the rhythm because of the witcher...

They all made sense now.

The pain in his chest was like an icy hand grabbing his insides and twisting it vigorously. It knocked the air out of his lungs. He held his palm over his heart and felt the fast throbbing from deep inside. Despite the aching in his body, Jaskier was smiling like a clown.

His smile was wide, toothy, probably silly, and he looked like a fool covered in dried blood and dirt, sitting on a stranger’s porch at dawn.

“Oh fuck I can’t breathe.” He sighed, and a chuckle burst out of him. His head was spinning, and he got up on his feet so fast he got dizzy, but he didn’t care. Jaskier started walking, the walking turned into skipping, and then he ran. He ran towards the stables. He slammed the heavy wooden doors open. Roach saw him blast in, and the mare neighed loudly, waking up the other horses around her.

“Roach my dearest girl, our charming witcher will live to die another day, but not before me. He knows that we had a talk, or else I’m going to come back and haunt his pale arse until eternity.” The mare puffed out some air, and Jaskier was sure she rolled her brown eyes at him. “Well, anyhow, I have some news to share with you, Darling.” The bard walked next to the horse and stroked her soft, silky fur on her head. Just between her large eyes where her coat looked like a tiny hurricane. A messy chaos of brown and white.

“But you have to promise me not to laugh, because believe me, I know how ridiculous it sounds.” He whispered and looked around them. “I love him!”

Those three words rolled off his tongue so smoothly and effortlessly like he was practising to say this throughout his whole life. He felt liberated and utterly ridiculous at the same time, so it was nothing unusual, just another day being the Bard of the Great White Wolf. 

The White Wolf he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you thought THIS was the angst well I have some news for you Darling Dear :"D  
> (i haven't even started yet)
> 
> If you wanna have a chat come and find me on twitter @doberainbow
> 
> Love you all,
> 
> Tell me what you think.
> 
> Have a lovely day <3


	11. Rotten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Darlings!
> 
> I am so sorry for the delayed update but my new job is rather difficult. I'm not going to lie, I met too many suicidal people in the last few weeks and it isn't easy on my mental health.
> 
> I needed a little break, but I am here and I'm back!
> 
> So please enjoy this chapter and leave a comment ❤

Geralt only needed a few hours of rest. When the family started to wake up, he was already getting dressed with, of course, Jaskier’s help. The bard was buzzing around him like a hungry mosquito, and no matter how hard the witcher tried to shoo him away, the brunet was too stubborn to let him be. He helped Geralt sat up in the bed. He held him like he was made of glass. The mutant glared at him as viciously as he managed, but Jaskier ignored it entirely with a genuine smile on his young face.

Geralt also noticed that since the poet returned from Roach, he was drenched in that sugary smell. That sweet scent that before today just sometimes followed him and disappeared in minutes was now taking over the whole room and seemed to linger around Jaskier permanently.

The witcher had to breathe through his mouth. He could taste burned sugar on the tip of his tongue. It made his brain cloudy, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he wanted to push Jaskier away or bury his nose into the crook of the bard’s neck. Just where his scent is the strongest, and his skin is soft as a peach.

“I don’t need your help!” Geralt snarled, bared his sharp canines at the poet like a feral animal, and furrowed his brows.

Jaskier was standing in front of him with a clean, white cloth in between his hands. His eyes were large and bright, and he was still in his ruined, dirty clothes but had an excited little curl on his lips. Geralt frowned deeper in response.

“I know. You are fearless and headstrong and independent and covered in your own blood. It’s a rather unflattering look if you ask me.”

“I didn’t!”

“So that’s why I will just quickly wash all that off, and then help you get properly dressed.” Jaskier pretended he didn’t hear Geralt’s protest and turned to the cold water bowl he brought into the room earlier. The witcher had enough at that moment. He stood up on his numb legs when the brunet turned around with a soft grin.

“No, no, no!” His warm palms were immediately on Geralt’s chest, pushing him back to sit on the bed, but the man didn’t even flinch. It was like trying to move a mountain with his bare hands. “Geralt, please! Just let me help you for once.”

“I do not need your help, bard!” The man’s voice was harsh and full of venom. Jaskier’s throat stung, but he swallowed down the pain.

“But I need it!” He protested and didn’t let go of Geralt. “Please! I-I need this. I want to make sure you are safe. I need to see that you are healthy and… I need to save you because I couldn’t… I-”

The emotions were so rapidly changing on Jaskier’s face; the witcher couldn’t keep up with them. He stood there frozen, while the bard’s hands turned into fists on his chest, and his eyes filled with fear.

“J-just let me do this for you. You always help me, Geralt. You think I don’t see it, but I do. I know when I woke up covered in your fur coat because you wrapped it around me during the night. I know when you glare at those people in a tavern who are circling around me until they leave. I know you teach me how to fight because you’re worried that I-”

“Stop.”

That one word wasn’t a command. It was a plead. Soft and guilty at the same time. Jaskier bit his bottom lip and averted his eyes from the witcher.

Geralt felt terrible.

No. Not terrible. He felt like shit.

His wound was itching and uncomfortably pulling his skin. His back was hurting from lying in a too comfortable bed for too long. He was covered in already fading bruises. His hair was in lumps from dried blood, and he had dirt under his fingernails. But all these things didn’t bother him as much as Jaskier’s distress.

The young poet smelled sour from anger and salty from the tears, he blinked back quickly and refused to let them fall.

Geralt felt like shit because he kept on hurting this man who showed him nothing but kindness.

The witcher sighed and dropped back on the bed. Jaskier’s warm palms were no longer on his skin. The mutant looked up to see the tightly curved line of the poet’s lips trembling as he pressed them together.

“I-” He opened his mouth and cursed in his head. No matter how hard he tried, his voice was always like an animal’s grunt. It was guttural and coarse. He couldn’t make it any softer. He couldn’t honey it up. No matter what he did, he will always be a cold-hearted witcher, but this bardling believed that he is more. So he tried his hardest to be more. “I need your help.”

That short sentence hung in there between them. Jaskier’s scent was changing like the weather on a summer day until he visibly shook himself out of his thoughts and placed his hands on his hips again. Geralt knew what was coming, and he smiled in relief.

“Damn right, you do. Now stop your boorish grunts of protest and behave.”

Again. It was mesmerizing how fast the brunet could change his attitude and demeanour. Geralt snorted and did as he was told.

Jaskier started to gently wipe down the blood from the witcher’s arms and fingers. He worked systematically and thoroughly. He was gentle like he was just handling a newborn child. His touches made Geralt’s skin tingle in a way it never did before. He wanted to shy away from the bard’s hands, he felt powerless when Jaskier held him, but he didn’t dare to move.

“It’s insane how fast your skin is healing. The last night you had no skin on your knuckles, and now-” Jaskier mumbled as he lifted Geralt’s left hand to bring it closer to his face. All the red and blue bruises vanished from the mutant’s hands and were replaced with smooth, snow-white skin.

Jaskier was maybe the only human on this land who found Geralt’s mutation fascinating, and he didn’t miss an opportunity to praise the silver-haired man.

While the witcher fought with the thoughts of showing weakness in front of anyone, Jaskier’s mind was wandering somewhere else, somewhere darker and… naughtier.

If he would leave a bruise right there on Geralt’s neck... If he would kiss and suck and nip the skin until it is all red and bothered, how long would it take to heal? Could he see it with his eyes? Just lay his head on the mutant’s slowly rising and falling chest and watch his skin heal? He wanted to test this theory. He wanted to push the silver-haired man until he was on his back so he could kneel above him.

Jaskier shook his head and took a glimpse at Geralt’s face. The man was glaring at him with a frown, and he felt his cheeks blush from those amber eyes. He knew that the witcher could smell his thoughts from a mile away. He probably smelled like a teenage boy at his first time in a brothel.

_ Good. _

Jaskier grinned devilishly. He wanted Geralt to know. He watched how the man knit his eyebrows further together and averted his gaze from the poet, but didn’t pull away from his touches.

It took some bargaining to let the witcher allow him to wash his hair and comb it until it was smooth and silky between Jaskier’s clever fingers. He knew he was milking this. He was taking his sweet time and poking the bear. But he couldn’t help himself. He dreamed about running his hands through Geralt’s white locks for way too long, and now he had the chance to do it, and Jaskier wanted to burn the image and the feeling into his mind.

In the meantime, the mutant was silent, and his shoulders tensed up each time the bard accidentally touched his ears or temple. Jaskier wanted to see Geralt’s face more than anything. He played with the idea of the brooding man was having a tiny little rosy colour on his cheeks and worried his plum lips between those sharp, wolfish teeth.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Jaskier asked, and maybe he was whispering on purpose into the witcher’s ear and leaned against him with his palms on the man’s shoulders just to see him react, and Geralt did not disappoint. He shook off Jaskier and jumped out of the bed like he was yanked up on chains to stand on his feet.

The brunet sat back on his heels on the bed and watched as Geralt clenched and unclenched his fist by his sides before he turned to face him.

The witcher was not alright. It was hard to breathe in the room. Jaskier’s sugary scent was suffocating and weighty, like the air after a summer rain on a scorching day.

The poet seemed to be too close all the time. Geralt felt like he was running away from those soft touches.

“No.” The word came out as a snarl, or more like a hiss, and Jaskier’s face fell for a second before he gathered up that fake smile he put on each time the witcher hurt him, but the brunet was too stubborn to show it.

“Alright, then. Who knew witchers were so touchy about their glorious locks.”

“I am not… touchy.” He gritted his teeth, and Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him as he tilted his head to the side. Geralt wanted to just grab his face and… and shout at him, growl until the poet backs off and stop smelling like  _ that _ . He wanted to hold Jaskier’s face between his palms until he smiles again, and bury his nose into his chestnut hair.

_ What the fuck? _

The witcher needed to get out of this room. He needed to get away from the troubadour. Once and for all.

“I need some air.” Geralt mumbled, and Jaskier climbed out of bed fast, standing beside him in a second.

“Sure. Let me just grab my-”

“Alone, bard. Stay here!” Even before Jaskier could protest, Geralt left the room, just like that, barefoot, with his hair still damp and in very little clothing. The poet wanted to run after him with a blanket. He knew it very well the mutant can’t catch something so trivial as a cold, but he wanted Geralt to be warm at all the times.

He sat back on the bed with his fingers restlessly picking on his nails.

“Well, that went well.” He snorted, and there were a few silent moments before Zofia appeared in the doorway with a smile on her face.

“Your partner sure heals very fast.” Jaskier chuckled as he started to tidy the room they borrowed for the night.

“He is too stubborn to die, thank the Gods.”

“And thanks to you, Darling. You saved his life. I hope he thanked you for that.”

“Well, he did. In his own way.” Jaskier shrugged, and he knew that very well that it wasn’t entirely true. He thought, or more like hoped for Geralt to just hold his hand, look into his eyes and tell him that he is grateful and Jaskier is the best thing that happened with him throughout his tragic life.

The bard grinned at that thought. It was absurd, yet it left a smile on his face.

“Are you alright, Love?” Zofia asked, and Jaskier didn’t even saw her come close. He only realised that the woman was next to him when soft hands took the folded blanket out of his shaking hands.

“I am. I really am, I swear. It was just… too much.”

Jaskier never had a close and healthy relationship whit his mother. He was raised by maids and left the Pankratz manor as soon as he could, never looking back. He used to write letters to his parents while he studied in Oxenfurt, they sent him back coins but never a single word. It has been over a year since he last wrote them, and it was probably for the best. Yet now, when Zofia hugged him between those warm arms, and she smelled of freshly baked bread and a faint rosy perfume, Jaskier felt like he was deprived of motherly love throughout his whole life.

“You two will be fine, Dear. Don’t worry. He will come around.”

The young brunet really wanted to believe that those words will come true. Geralt will walk back to the house and accept Jaskier’s affection and a tremendous amount of love. Or won’t be bothered by it.

The poet let himself melt into Zofia’s embrace. Slowly rocking with the lady to left and right while she ruffled his hair.

Geralt was fuming. He marched away from the house. Not in any particular direction just away from Jaskier, and his sugary scent, and those bright, expressive eyes, and that hurt pout on those full lips. The witcher needed space because it seemed like the bard didn’t know the meaning of giving space. Since he woke up from his injury, the poet was all over him, and Geralt felt cornered. He understood that Jaskier was worried, even terrified of losing him, but the witcher couldn’t bear those waiting, expectant looks the young man was giving him.

He didn’t know what Jaskier wanted from him. He can’t give anything. He already changed his whole life, his routine, his demeanour, and part of his personality for the troubadour. He let himself be vulnerable, and he opened up more than ever before, but it seemed like it wasn’t enough. Jaskier wanted everything, and Geralt knew that the brunet won’t like what he sees once all those walls the witcher carefully built around himself throughout the decades will be once demolished.

It was too much. Geralt hated that feeling when the bard looked at him, and he was clueless what the poet wanted. He was at his limit.

Witchers don’t have friends. They don’t have travelling companions or partners. For Geralt, emotions were nothing but a pain in the arse. Not his own emotions, he had none, but other’s feelings. He couldn’t understand them, he didn’t want to deal with them, and it truly confused him.

He had enough.

Jaskier needed to go. Geralt was distracted by the bard. Spending more time with the brunet, letting the young man follow him on his path, was dangerous for both of them.

Geralt knew his life was gruesome and dangerous. He will probably die by being ripped apart by a beast or eaten by a monster one day, and he didn’t want to think about leaving anyone behind. In his last moment on this land, he doesn’t want the feeling of guilt wash over him, because someone will grieve him when he is gone.

He wanted peace, and Jaskier was thunder.

Geralt stood there barefoot, sore with his still damp hair, covered in Jaskier’s lovely scent, and his chest hurt. He knew the bard will hate him. The witcher is just about to break his heart, and even though he tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, Jaskier shouldn’t have got attached in the first place, he felt absolutely ghastly.

He got used to the constant chattering and music. He got used to Jaskier being around him. Even worst, Roach liked the poet as well. It will be hard on her, Geralt already knew she will be a handful to deal with, but he had to do this. For all of them.

Geralt sighed and looked up at the sky. The sun was up high, it felt good on his pale cheeks.

After some time, he walked back to the house, and even from outside, it sounded like everyone was already awake. The family sat at the kitchen table was Geralt laid just a few hours ago, bleeding and fighting for his life. Now it seemed like nothing happened last night if it was just a fever dream. Everybody was sitting by the table even Jaskier was there on a small three-legged stool, munching on some fruits having a giggle with the little girls, who seemed to be utterly charmed by the young poet.

Everyone turned to face him when he stood in the doorway. He was prepared for the grimaces, awkward glances, and shameless disgust. He got none of those things. He apologised and wanted to make a fast beeline to the room he borrowed, but he was stopped by the father. Geralt took the offered hand and shook it. He got a chair and was pushed down on it by firm hands on his shoulder.

He was covered in bruises and cuts, his bare feet were muddy, and he was barely dressed. Yet this family acted like it was normal that they were dining with a literal monster. He had a plate in a blink of an eye with fresh pastry on it, and he was nudged from two sides to pick anything he likes and start eating.

Geralt frowned and mumbled a silent ‘thank you’. He heard how Jaskier hid his chuckle behind the apple he was having. The witcher glared at him, but the poet just grinned at him wholeheartedly, and it was warmer than any sunlight on his cheek.

Geralt wanted to bolt out of the house and don’t stop running until he forgets how blue Jaskier’s eyes were when he winked at him from the other side of the kitchen table.

“Thank you so much for everything. Truly. I will never forget what you and your family did for us.”

“Don’t be silly, there is no need for gratitude. Some folks may be unwelcoming, but not us. In this house, we help where we can.”

Geralt stood by the door, waiting for Jaskier to finish hugging every single member of the family. Twice. As much as they tried to avoid it, they left with some food prepared for the road ahead of them. He watched as the smallest girl shed big, shiny tears as the poet hugged her and placed a loud kiss on the crown of her head, earning a tiny smile.

The mutant was baffled how good the troubadour was with people. Everyone seemed to love him immediately like he was using magic to make strangers fell for his coy smirks and boyish charm.

They walked away from the house, and Jaskier waved and shouted back to the family who watched them from their porch as they disappeared on the road. Geralt didn’t tell the poet he hid all the coins he earned for his last hunt under the pillow before leaving until they were far away from the house. The brunet’s laugh was carried far away by the wind, and it lifted the corners of Geralt’s lips as well for a second.

He will wait until they reach the next town. He won’t leave the bardling here in a forest by himself. No. He will sneak away during the night like a coward he was. He didn’t want Jaskier to argue with him. He didn’t want his last memory of the poet to be how he cried and cursed at Geralt. He wanted to remember Jaskier like this; joyful, smelling of lavender and honey, with a massive smile on his face and beaming, ocean-blue eyes.

“What are you staring at?” Jaskier asked when he caught Geralt watching him like he was studying a painting.

“I’m not.”

“You were, you liar. You were doubtlessly drinking the sight of my flawlessness.”

“Sure.” Geralt rolled his eyes with a grunt and turned away from the shamelessly grinning brunet.

“How are you feeling? Do you need to rest? Zofia prepared some lunch for us, and I have water in-”

“I’m fine, Jaskier.”

He interrupted the bard a little bit too harshly, but the poet just shrugged like he was used to it and started humming as always when Geralt shut him down. The witcher hated this. He was disgusted by how easily he could hurt the young man. How natural was it for him to bark and behave like a savage. Yet Jaskier never snapped back. He just… took it.

“We are heading to Hengfors.”

“Oh splendid, I heard they have a spectacular market. I should buy some new clothes, I’m afraid blood ruined my finest doublet.”

Geralt knew it was his fault, it was his blood stained the poet’s whole body, but still, there was no anger or fury in Jaskier’s silky voice. He was genuinely sad and didn’t blame the witcher.

The bard started to compose a song about Zofia and her family. He told Geralt that he will leave out the significant detail that the silver-haired man nearly died. He said it would upset his audience. The witcher noted that one more dead mutant wouldn’t matter to the people, and he earned a harsh scowl from the brunet and a half an hour long scolding.

The forest was getting dense and more challenging to pass through. The path vanished from under their feet, and it started to get cloudy. Jaskier frowned up at the sky, and his mood quickly changed as the sun disappeared. He enjoyed the light as much as a flower, Geralt thought and watched as the brunet started to play a more melancholic tune on his loved instrument.

The witcher’s stomach was in knots. His side where his wound pulled his skin was getting itchy, and Jaskier’s sugary scent was getting so thick it made his head spin around. He will miss this. There was no point in denying it that he will miss the soft music and another person's company. He should have never gotten used to it, but it was already too late for that.

_ It was the best for both of them. _

He kept saying that to himself. He is doing this to protect Jaskier.

What life would be for the poet anyway if he keeps following a monster-slayer?

He will never have a family, he would never settle down, he would always be an outcast, a freak in the people's eye.

Geralt is saving him. Yes. And it doesn’t matter how his heart will ache once he leaves Jaskier behind.

The day started to come to an end. The clouds turned into a black sky spattered with silver stars. Geralt found a cave, just big enough to shelter both of them if it starts raining during the night. The brunet decided to gather the firewood as the mutant was ‘still injured’ and promised to stay close, where Geralt could still hear him. The witcher took off the saddle from Roach and brushed the dust off her fur. Roach was too intelligent, she knew that something was bothering him. She kept butting her head against the witcher’s chest.

“We will be fine. Just the two of us like before.” He murmured as he pressed their forehead together and listened to the mare’s soft breaths.

As light on his feet he was, the poet made a terrible racket while he was walking around, collecting wood. It was easy for the mutant to just listen and know how far away the other wondered. He could hear him curse each time he slipped or stepped on some branches. Jaskier talked to himself constantly. It made the witcher grin when the bard nonsense chatter filled his ears. It took over his senses. He no longer heard the birds above them nesting in between the leaves, or small animals trying to find a place to survive the night. How predators were waking up, ready for a hunt, lurking in the darkness.

No. All he heard was Jaskier groaning as his trouser got ripped on the thorns of a blackberry bush.

The poet came back with a pout on his rosy lips and an armful of firewood. He dropped it on the ground and wiped his forehead with the back of his hands.

“My clothes are in shreds, Geralt. I may start begging for coins on the streets now because I do look like a beggar.” Jaskier huffed, and it did make the witcher smirk. The tiniest rip on the poet’s fancy trouser was nearly invisible, yet he acted like he was bare-skinned, like the day he was born.

“You look just fine.”

“Well, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I won’t accept your opinion about this manner, since all of your clothes are either black or the darkest shade of grey, and you do not care if you are covered in guts or look like an undertaker, my Dear.”

“You wound me.” Geralt sighed as he started to build their fire and didn’t miss the way Jaskier hid his chuckle behind his palm.

“Can you do your little magic trick, or are you still too weak?” Jaskier asked as he finally sat down and looked at the witcher, wiggling his fingers in a way some fools imitated casting spells. Well, he was a fool, after all. Geralt didn’t bother with an answer. He sent one glare to the smirking poet while he lit their rack of wood on fire with the sign Igni.

“Magnificent as always.” Jaskier commented and raised his hands above the flames to warm his palms.

“Your praises keep me alive, bard.” Geralt mumbled, and the poet snorted in a not so delicate nor graceful way. The witcher joined in with a grin. He liked the young bardling like this. Without all the forged finesse and nobility.

He liked Jaskier when he was his disastrous, clumsy self, not the refined bard he liked to think he is.

The evening went by with them cooking some meat they got from Zofia, and with the poet composing his new song, involving Geralt into the process. Even if the witcher’s answers were mostly just ‘hm-s’, nods, and sometimes shrugs, Jaskier seemed happy with what he got and carried on asking the mutant of each line he wrote down.

Geralt will miss this as well. The silent cracking and popping of the fire while Jaskier matched chords to his words and tried to figure out a new melody. He never told the bard that he has a clear and undeniable lovely voice. Well, it was too late for that now.

He lifted his golden eyes too, where Jaskier sat on a rock and moved his long, slender fingers on the strings. He could still recall how they felt as they brushed through his wet hair and how gently they caressed his injured skin when he washed Geralt that morning.

He followed the veins on Jaskier’s arms until they vanished under the rolled-up sleeves of his doublet. Amber eyes were attached to that small patch of collarbone and chest that was revealed from under Jaskier’s unbuttoned shirt.

He was shameless. He was so casual and comfortable around Geralt; he was barely ever appropriately dressed. Not like the witcher mind it. Not at all. Jaskier was easy on the eyes, and the mutant liked seeing him vulnerable and cozy like this. His pale cheeks now had some colour from the warmth of the fire. His hair was dishevelled, and he was probably the only human who looked good with some dust from the road on them.

Geralt averted his eyes back to the flames. He shouldn’t ogle Jaskier like this even if it was most likely the last night they will spend together camping. Tomorrow they will reach Hengfors and there… there he will leave the poet behind once and for all.

Geralt exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment, releasing the tension he was holding in his shoulders.

“Why the big sighs, Geralt?” Jaskier’s sweet scent and gentle voice sent shivers down his spine. The witcher stood up to ignore the feeling and walked further into the small cave.

“We should catch some sleep. Tomorrow we leave early.” Geralt didn’t bother looking at the brunet while he prepared his bedroll. He heard Jaskier put his lute away carefully and was getting ready for the night. Geralt didn’t wear his armour today it would have been too tight on him, causing friction on his damaged skin. He only had to get rid of his boots, and he was ready for bed. Even Roach seemed to already slumber, where she stood further away from the cave.

Geralt told Jaskier that the poet should sleep deeper into the cave, behind the witcher, if anyone or anything happens to attack them in the middle of the night, but the brunet was already under his covers, and with a groan, he told Geralt that it will be fine.

The silver-haired man scowled at the troubadour as he wished him sweet dreams and turned on his side with a grin.

Geralt moved his bedroll closer to Jaskier and fell asleep being hugged by the bard’s sweet scent.

The mutant never truly slept like a rock. He was always alert and somewhat aware of his surroundings. The small snap of a twig woke him up like it was a thunderbolt.

Geralt opened his yellow eyes, seeing Jaskier splayed out on his bedroll as if he was stomped over by some wild animals. The witcher sat up noiselessly, grabbing his sword that was always within his reach.

There was something out there. He could sense it. The forest was too silent. There wasn’t even a cricket making a sound. The owls were hiding. Animals were all gone or frozen in fear.

He kneeled next to Jaskier and placed his palm over the poet’s soft lips. Blue, frightened eyes snapped open as he jerked awake, and Geralt put his pointing finger on his own lips. The brunet needed a few moments to shook off his dream and wake up properly. Geralt bright, amber eyes were studying as his young face slowly relaxed, and after a few shaking breaths, the poet nodded his head.

Geralt removed his hand away from his mouth, and Jaskier immediately wetted his lips. Golden eyes followed the movement like a cat watching a mouse run across a field. The bard pushed himself up on his elbows, and immediately the mutant was aware of how close their bodies were and how deliciously sweet Jaskier’s scent was.

Geralt gasped and moved away hastily. He could taste Jaskier on his tongue, and his brain forgot the potential danger out there between the trees for a moment. He shook his head and looked back towards the woods. Their fire already died out. The glowing embers turned into grey ash, barely giving out any heat anymore.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered as he sat up and stared at the witcher who frowned and tried to listen out for any movement. The bard didn’t try again. He saw that the witcher was serious. He stood up as quietly as he managed, he wasn’t a trained hunter after all and stayed behind the other. Geralt moved slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. His whole posture was strained and stiff. His knuckles were white as he held his silver sword. There were some sudden thuds. Like if someone or something was marching towards them.

“Geralt?” Now Jaskier’s voice was louder. The witcher ignored him and tried to sniff, hoping that the wind was carrying anything from the stranger.

He could smell the burned woods, Jaskier, and how panicked the poet was. He smelled Roach and the scent of the moist earth beneath his bare feet.

And there it was something new. Something like rotten flesh and the stench of madness. The footsteps were getting louder, they were getting closer. There came a sound, it was like a giggle, but more malicious and vile, but for sure humanlike.

“Geralt?” Jaskier tried it again but came no answer.

The laugh ended, and the person stopped. Geralt now stood in front of the cave, Jaskier not far behind him, trying to see anything but seeing only the witcher’s white hair and silver sword until something started to shine behind the bushes. No. Not shine but… sparkle?

A sorcerer.

“Jaskier, get back!” Geralt’s roar made the poet tremble as he stumbled backward until his back hit the wall made of rocks.

The gathered magical power hit Geralt with such a force he barely had any time to cast the spell Quen to raise a shining shield in front of them. His legs carved valleys into the ground as he was pushed back by the attack.

The bushes and branches where the attack came from started burning and sizzling, blinding the bard for a second before his eyes got used to the light.

There stood a man in a dirty robe that seemed like it wasn’t washed or taken off for years. It was ripped and filthy. The whole man was just covered in layers of grime. His face, long hair, and beard were muddy, and only his enlarged, soulless eyes and wide grin, with his crooked, yellowish teeth were visible.

He was mad. He looked like his mind was rotting in his skull, and that was what Geralt smelled in the air. He lost his sanity, and now, this insane mage was more dangerous than anything that could attack them in this forest.

They were cornered here. Geralt’s magic couldn’t hold up against a trained sorcerer even if he was mad. The mage kept on attacking. The curses and spells were different, like he was just rolling dice each time to choose his next assault. The witcher kept blocking them, but they needed to attack back. He had to get Jaskier out of here so he can fight without worrying about the brunet.

The bard needed to run away, and hopefully, the insane mage would keep attacking the mutant as he was a more significant threat than the young man. The man kept laughing and hollering like it was a game. They were running out of time. The chance for Jaskier to escape was getting smaller by each passing second.

“You need to run!” Geralt shouted as he blocked another lightning-fast spell.

“Have you lost your marbles? I’m not leaving you here!” Jaskier sounded utterly outraged and desperate. Geralt bared his teeth and glanced over his shoulder. The look on the witcher’s face pushed all the air out of the bard’s lungs, and he could feel cold sweat run down on his spine.

“I can’t defend us and attack at the same time. When I tell you to run, fucking run!”

“Geralt, I can’t-”

“GO!” Geralt’s howl was throaty, and it hurt Jaskier’s ears. His legs seemed to be swallowed by the earth because he had to force them to move. The mutant saw it from the corner of his eyes as the poet moved, first slowly and hesitantly, but then he bolted out of the cave. The mage’s eyes followed Jaskier’s movements, and he forgot to cast a spell for a moment. Geralt took that chance and ran towards the sorcerer with a roar. The filthy man averted his eyes back to the witcher, and the monster hunter felt that little warmth of relief in his heart.

Jaskier was safe.

Geralt was only a few meters away from the mage. If the man won’t cast a spell, Geralt has a chance to release his head from his shoulders with his sword. But they weren’t that lucky. Sparks and smoke were already gathering in the mage’s palms as he was ready to fire another random spell. The witcher had to stop and raise a block with the sign Quen again.

“Oi, you bloody tosser, look over here!” Jaskier’s shout shocked both Geralt and the mad sorcerer. The bard stopped and turned to look into those insane eyes as he waved his arms above his head. Geralt felt his heart jump into his throat instantly.

“Jaskier! Leave!” His voice never cracked the way it did when he shouted the brunet’s name right at that moment.

He felt as fear grabbed his spine and shook him to the core when the poet decided to be the bait and give a chance to Geralt to kill the lunatic mage. The few meters between himself and the sorcerer now were like an undefeatable gaping hole on the ground.

The mutant had never run faster in his life.

He was chased by werewolves, armies of men, vampires, and every disgusting and bloodthirsty creature that walked on the Continent before, yet he never ran faster than right now, when the sorcerer raised his arms towards Jaskier.

Those dirty fingers lit up, and Geralt’s muscles in his legs cried out in pain as he tried to close the distance before the mage could cast a spell.

Some people often say that when your life is in danger, it seems like the time goes slower.

Geralt thinks that bollocks. If anything, time was scurrying, and he tried to catch up with it.

Jaskier wide, terrified eyes were bright when the sorcerer spell shot towards him like an arrow. Geralt knew he shouted, or maybe just roared something unintelligible. He lifted his sword, and with a clean-cut, the nearby trees and bushes were painted red from the blood squirting out of the mage’s neck as his severed head dropped to the ground.

Now everything stopped.

The slightly burning forest around them was silent. The mage’s lifeless body dropped to the ground without a sound. Geralt knew he was heaving heavily, but the only thing he heard was his own heartbeats in his ears.

The grip of the sword slipped out of his fingers. He felt as fresh blood was running down on his chest and arms. The soles of his feet were probably covered in cuts and bruises from running over sharp rocks and the thorns covered ground. He felt how his strength was rapidly vanishing from using too much magic too fast after his previous injury.

He cared about none of those things.

His golden eyes were already looking towards the place where the bard stood just a moment ago.

He wasn’t there.

“Jask-” Geralt’s voice came out as a strangled sound when he found the bard.

Jaskier was lying on the ground, unmoving, and smoke was slightly circling around him like white snakes in the air.

“Jaskier!” The witcher moved like he was pulled on chains. He couldn’t hear anything from his fucking heart throbbing in his ears. His throat was so dry and tight every breath he took hurt like swallowing broken glass.

He dropped next to the brunet, pulling him into his lap. His face was warm between his hands, and his body was feather-light. He could feel Jaskier’s heart beating at a rapid pace behind his ribs.

He was alive.

“Come on, you idiot. Wake up!” Geralt shook him softly. The smoke slowly disappeared from around them. The witcher tried to see any cursed mark or wound that would give a sign of what spell hit the bard, but there wasn’t any. There was this sulphuric smell in the air, but it didn’t ring any bell in Geralt’s head what curse the mage might have used.

“Come on, Jaskier! You can’t… You shouldn’t have… Why the fuck you didn’t run as I told you?” Geralt hissed as he pulled the bardling to his chest. The poet’s arms fell beside his body, and the mutant had to hold them, he couldn’t bear the sight of those talented hands on the ground. As he held those arms, he felt a tiny shiver race through Jaskier’s lithe body.

Geralt forgot to breathe as he watched those long, thick eyelashes flutter. He brushed the hair away from Jaskier’s face, with trembling fingers.

“Jaskier?” Geralt never heard his own voice so frail and uncertain. He had a hard time recognising that it was really him talking.

Jaskier’s whole body tensed up, and eyelids flew open as the poet started to cough. His entire body shook and twitched as the witched pulled him up to sit and held his back, rubbing gentle circles with his palm. The bard’s breathing seemed to come out in shallow, fast waves, like if someone was choking him.

“Geh-” Jaskier tried to talk, but it came out nothing but a squeak.

“Don’t try to talk yet!” Geralt said, and the poet turned to face him but didn’t look at him. His eyes ran across the witcher’s face but didn’t catch that golden gaze.

“Geralt… I-I can’t…” Jaskier sounded so terrified like never before. He was twisting and turning his head. “Geralt?” He kept touching his own face with quivering, careful fingers like he was searching for something.

“I’m here.” The mutant said, and grabbed one of the brunet’s hands, squeezing it softly, but Jaskier clutched him with such force the witcher didn’t know the poet is capable of.

“Geralt? I can’t see you! I can’t… I-” The mutant frowned and let go of Jaskier hands only to hold his face between his palms.

“Look at me.” Geralt asked, but even though their faces were mere inches away, those scared bright eyes were flicking in every direction without stopping. “Jaskier?”

“I can’t see you! I can’t see fuck all. Geralt, what the fuck is happening?” The brunet’s voice was strained from how the urge to cry crept up in his throat.

“I’m right here.” Geralt whispered, and strong, shaky fingers found his wrist holding onto him like Jaskier was afraid that he will be blown away by the wind.

“I can’t see, Geralt. I-I can’t… fuck… I, Geralt? What do I do? Geralt?”

Jaskier kept repeating his name like it was the only thing he was able to say. Fat drops of tears started to run down on his cheeks, and Geralt's heart was genuinely breaking. 

He felt the pain in his chest as the bard clawed at his arm, shoulders, and everywhere he could reach the mutant. It didn’t hurt, it was nothing comparing to what he felt when Jaskier looked at him for a second, so afraid, yet hoping that Geralt can help him. Like if the witcher can just magically lift the curse.

It was his fault. Jaskier saved them. He sacrificed himself so Geralt can kill the lunatic mage. He did this for them. He did this for Geralt.

“Geralt, what do I do now? How can I… I can’t see... I can’t…”

“It will be okay.” The witcher said those words, and he needed a moment to compose himself before he looked back at Jaskier. “I’m here.”

The bard started sobbing, and the mutant didn’t know what to do when Jaskier threw his arms over his neck and buried his face into Geralt’s neck.

The troubadour’s scent was changing every minute. Despair, hope, anger, and horror. It was impossible to bear it. 

“I’m here.”

Geralt let the bard cry on him until the morning came, and he had no more tears left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hoped you all liked this chapter. Some angst as I promised but do not worry, this isn't all. Waves of angst and fluff will come and we will all suffer, but we will love it. Hopefully!
> 
> On another note.
> 
> Please all of you take care of yourselves. Do not forget that you are never alone and you are loved!
> 
> Be happy, even in these difficult times!
> 
> Love you all as always. 
> 
> Catch me on twitter @doberainbow
> 
> And leave a comment even if it just one word :D   
> They make my days <3
> 
> See ya~~


	12. Glass and hammer

Geralt lost his sense of time. The day was changing around them, it was early morning, and Jaskier was still wrapped into his arms. The poet was sitting in his lap now. Strong, lean thighs were holding his waist tightly in a quivering, iron grip. There were no tears left in those blue eyes. The witcher’s tunic wasn’t damp anymore, it already dried up, but the bard was still whimpering.

One of Geralt’s large palm was pressed in between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. He wasn’t doing anything with it. He didn’t push the brunet closer to his chest, but he wouldn’t let the man escape his grip either. If Jaskier wanted to run through his fingers like liquid, Geralt would be there to hold him in his palms.

The witcher had no idea what to do. It all happened so fast he still tried to unpack everything.

His injury. The attack. The way his plan to leave the bard behind got chewed up and destroyed.

He felt like a monster.

There was this broken, trembling young man in his arms. Barely an adult. So naïve and so fragile, yet he tried to break his heart. He wanted to leave him and never look back. And now… now Geralt wasn’t even sure if they will ever move again from where they were sitting on the grass, tangled and slowly rocking back and forth.

It was Geralt who moved first after hours. He leaned a little bit back to be able to look at Jaskier’s face. The poet was a mess. His cheeks were dirty, and his rapidly moving eyes were red and puffy. So damn blue and unfocused.

The witcher had to come up with a plan. They needed help from someone who was familiar with curses, and two people came up in his mind.

Mousesack was one of Geralt’s oldest _friends_. The sorcerer always welcomed the mutant with open arms, a pint of ale, and a smile on his face. The witcher liked a few men throughout his long life, and Mousesack was one of them, and Geralt had no doubts that the mage could help them break the curse or fix the damage.

There was only one problem. He had no idea where Mousesack could be. Last time they met in a tiny village up north by accident, but he heard the tales that the sorcerer was travelling all over the Continent. Maybe he was nearby, perhaps he was on the other side of the world. Finding Mousesack could take months, and they had no time to waste.

There came the second option.

Triss Merigold. The sorceress might be someone Geralt didn’t plan to ever see again, but he knew deep down in his heart that the brunette mage would help them without question. She was just like that. Too kind for this cruel place.

She was a skilled healer, a fearless sorceress, and she was currently in Temeria, as the throne's adviser. Vizima, where the king and his court lived, was far away. Even on Roach, it would take them two weeks to reach the capital. Two weeks if they don’t stop riding and without any disruption.

Geralt’s jaw twitched. They were running low on coins. The witcher needed a job or two to buy them food and book them a room. He couldn’t leave Jaskier sleep in a forest. Not in this state.

_He could not leave Jaskier._

The guilt inside him was growing bigger with each passing minute. So heavy in his stomach, he felt like he was made of steel and rock.

What the fuck are they going to do? How are they going to cross lands with Jaskier being punished with blindness? How will Geralt protect the bard while he is fighting with a monster somewhere in a ditch?

Geralt physically shook himself out of his thoughts.

Jaskier was still in his lap, he was still holding the brunet close to his chest, while the poet silently sobbed into his neck. Geralt moved back, and the other felt him slip away. Jaskier started to wipe down his tears off his dusty face with the back of his hands while he sniffed. His eyes were open, sad ocean-blue orbs stared at the witcher.

It looked wrong. Jaskier looked like a puppet without his lively gaze. Like a porcelain doll.

Geralt avoided those eyes as he spoke.

“I know someone who can help, but she lives in Temeria. A mage. She is trustworthy and highly skilled.” Jaskier’s sniffing stopped, and he looked to where he thought the mutant’s amber eyes were. Their faces were so close as they sat there, or rather the poet sat on Geralt. The witcher was sure the young man would love this situation in other circumstances. Now he was just relieved that Jaskier couldn’t see how he kept staring and studying the brunet’s pale face, looking at those bitten, red lips.

“Geralt, I can’t even walk two steps like this, how could I go to Temeria?” His voice was so desperate and hopeless it made the witcher shiver. The pure and genuine fear that wrapped around Jaskier and squirmed its way into his words was excruciating to listen to.

“You have me.”

Geralt said it too fast and without thinking in a broken voice. He only noted what he blurted out when it was too late, and Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat. The mutant bit his tongue and shut his eyes tightly as the brunet stared at him with his lifeless blueness.

“I’m not leaving you here.” He managed to add it even if his throat was so dry it hurt to even squeeze a tiny rasp through his lips.

Jaskier’s bottom lip trembled, and he wasn’t fast enough to hide it. Geralt wanted to hold his face between his palms but couldn’t explain why.

“I’m a fucking burden, Geralt. I can’t play like this. I can’t… I can’t do anything. I will run out of coins in-in a few days, and I would just slow you down and-”

“Stop.” Geralt’s voice was a choked out noise, nothing more. It was filled with so much rage that it burned his mouth.

He was mad. He was furious.

Not at Jaskier, but at himself.

The fact that the bard thought he is a burden. That he is disposable. That Geralt would just leave him here to… to die, because that would happen in a matter of hours, maybe days, and then Jaskier would be killed by some bandits or a wild animal, turned the mutant’s stomach.

And the poet was honest. His heartbeat was upset and fast, but steady. He really thought… he really thought Geralt would just…

“I’m not leaving you here, Jaskier.”

Now he did hold the poet’s face in his hands. He gently grasped that milky, soft skin in his scarred and callused palms because he wanted Jaskier to understand it. He knew that the bard couldn’t see him. He couldn’t see that he meant it. He couldn’t see how much it hurt him that the brunet thought Geralt will just stand up, dust himself off, wish him luck, and walk away.

And Jaskier’s face changed. For a brief second, that honeyed scent was there again, like a tiny flame in a thunder trying to survive the wind. His eyes were wide, and maybe by accident, maybe he truly felt it, Jaskier looked into Geralt’s yellow orbs directly. His eyelashes were heavy and sparkling from tears.

For a split second, the witcher was mesmerised. The poet looked absolutely gorgeous in such a raw, natural way it scared the mutant.

Geralt cleared his throat and dropped his arms. The bard felt the change in the other man’s body and moved to climb out of his lap with a carmine blush on his cheeks. His legs were throbbing from the awkward shape he sat for too long. He felt dizzy as he tried to straighten up. He didn’t know where he was. For a moment, he didn’t know which way is up and which way is down. He felt like falling and rising at the same time.

Geralt watched as the bard leaned on his knees and shook his head. He was already next to him, hooking an arm over a bony elbow.

“C-cheers.” The brunet smiled shyly as he felt the mutant’s warm body next to his, making him feel safe and cared for. “Please tell me I don’t look as horrible as I feel.” Jaskier tried to laugh as he ran his trembling fingers through his disheveled hair.

“You’re fine.” Geralt said with a soft smirk, but both of them knew it was a lie. The poet even rolled his eyes with a snort.

“Right. We need to stop somewhere where I can at least wash my face.”

Of course. Geralt could have known that Jaskier would care about appearance even if he was blind. It made the mutant smile in a way he was glad no one saw because he could not really explain it.

The witcher led the poet back to their camp. Roach was standing there, staring at Jaskier’s uncertain steps as he clung onto Geralt with a confused look. The mutant ordered the bardling to sit down. The brunet argued, but Geralt gently pushed him back on his bottom, so they ended up with the brunet pouting and glaring at where he thought the mutant was, while the man packed their bags and got ready for the road.

He tried to be as careful as he could. He knew how meticulous and precise the bard was when it came to folding and organising his belongings. Geralt’s rough fingers tried to smooth away the wrinkles and take care of the silky materials, but as much as he tried to be gentle, he created more and more folds and lines.

He didn’t even realise he was cursing like a sailor until Jaskier’s careful voice brought him back to the present.

“Geralt? Are you alright?”

“I… no. I’m trying to be careful with your clothes but-”

_But I’m a brute. But I can’t take care of anything. I was built to destroy and kill and hurt. And I hurt you. And now you are suffering because of me. And the guilt inside me is so poisonous I am physically sick…._

Geralt wanted to say all of that, but he was tongue-tied. He swallowed back everything, but when he looked at Jaskier, and the poet was just smiling in such a pure, gentle way, the mutant knew he didn’t have to say anything.

The bard just knew.

He looked through Geralt’s walls and carefully built barricades even if he couldn’t see.

“Oh Darling, don’t worry about them. I hang them up in a steamy room, and all the wrinkles will be gone.” Jaskier grinned, even maybe chuckled a little bit as the witcher’s concerns warmed his heart. He was rolling in self-pity since he was hit by the curse, and he didn’t even consider how the monster hunter felt after all this, but hearing Geralt’s frustrated grunts and irritated mumbles made him shiver.

“Geralt, I just want you to know that whatever happened today, I don’t blame you, alright? For anything. You told me to run, and I didn’t, and I’m so sorry about that.” The bard choked on his words and clapped his palms over his trembling lips. How on Earth he had more tears to shed? He should have run out of them hours ago. “So please, do-don’t blame yourself!”

Jaskier, obviously, couldn’t see the shocked look on the witcher’s face. The way the mutant tried to hide the way his fangs showed in a snarl. The way he had to control his inner beast not to roar.

Geralt shook his head. He needed to swallow the crumbs of his emotions down and get himself together. Jaskier needed him. All of him. He had to be alert and ready for whatever will happen on the road with them. He had to take care of the young musician more than ever.

Geralt packed in absolute silence. Jaskier only knew where the witcher was when he heard the heavy boots walk around the ground and the noise of Roach hooves in the grass.

Being blind was something he never thought he will experience. He took his eyesight for so granted that now without it, he felt like he was nothing but a torso. He was robbed of his arms and legs, and he was this lost, immobile form floating in the darkness. His head was spinning. He didn’t know it was because of the magic that hit him or because he was disoriented from the lack of directions.

He needed an anchor to hold him down because Jaskier felt like he will be blown away by the wind.

And then came Geralt.

He was crouching next to the poet with Jaskier’s boots in his hands. The poet blinked, like if he could just blink away the blackness as he felt soft fingers curl over his left calf.

He shivered at the touch. It was so feather-light and cautious as if Geralt give him a choice to shy away from him if he wanted to. It took away Jaskier’s breath.

“Thank you.” He muttered, and he thought the witcher will just squeeze his feet into his boots and call it a day. Oh, how wrong he was.

Geralt hummed, as a sort of ‘You are welcome’ and started to wipe down Jaskier’s feet with a cloth.

Whatever mud he had on his legs was dry by now, and it was easily dusted away by the witcher’s clever fingers. Jaskier bit his bottom lip and maybe because he was blind, perhaps because it was Geralt, or maybe because of both, but he felt every teeny-tiny touch and caress so incredibly intensive and magnified.

He trembled when fingertips ran over the sole of his feet, and he felt the mutant froze, afraid that he accidentally hurt the brunet.

“Ticklish.” Jaskier grinned and wiggled his toes in Geralt’s soft hold. He could only imagine the frown on the handsome face of the mutant and Sweet Melitele, he really wanted to see it now, more than ever before.

Geralt let his eyes linger on Jaskier’s legs for a little bit too long, and he knew that later on, he will question himself why he did it, but now, he just watched the soft, alabaster skin and thin ankle.

The witcher lived a long life. Longer than he ever thought he will, and during these decades, he never found another man’s legs so… so enchanting?

Jaskier’s legs were long and toned in a way that always surprised the monster hunter. His skin was so inhumanly velvety even after all these weeks on the road with the witcher. For a few delirious seconds, he felt like holding a broken-winged bird in his palms he wanted to protect with his life.

Geralt shook his head. Finished brushing away the dust and spots and slid the boots onto Jaskier’s feet tenderly.

“Are you ready?” The witcher’s voice was husky, and the poet felt him standing up beside him. He only nodded and was ready to climb on his feet, even if his tummy was jumping and twisting violently. He already missed the loving touches but tried to shake off the feeling of emptiness and disappointment.

Geralt must have felt his worry, or maybe he had a horrid look on his face because there were strong fingers wrapped around his upper arm, gently, but firm enough to make Jaskier’s heart jump into his throat.

“Thank you.” He whispered as the mutant pulled his body towards himself so the poet can hook his arm around Geralt’s bicep. The muscles under his touch flexed, and he was sure he had a permanent blush on his face by now. They walked to the chestnut mare slowly and deliberately. Geralt watched every step of his as a hawk, making sure there won’t be anything the bardling can trip over or hurt himself with.

“Your pack is secured to the saddle. I will carry your lute.” The mutant spoke lowly and stepped away from Jaskier for a minute to make sure they had everything, and nothing is going to be left behind in the small cave.

“Don’t be silly, I will carry the lute. I’m blind, not weak. Come on, give it to me and-”

“I’m carrying the lute.”

The way Geralt interrupted him, and he had that deep rumble in his chest, made Jaskier’s skin turn into gooseflesh. He forgot his lips open and went silent in a second. The witcher ordering him around maybe irked his inner child, he wanted to argue with him and try to annoy the man, but now, he was just overwhelmed and flustered by those forceful words. It made his knees week, and he deep down wanted the mutant to take control more often.

“Sure. Do as you will. Who am I to say no.” He shrugged in a pretend careless way, but he knew that his smirk was giving him away.

“Hm.”

Geralt only grunted as he strapped the instrument over his chest and was somewhat surprised how heavy it was on his shoulders. Jaskier walked around, keeping up with him and Roach daily while carrying the lute like it weighed nothing.

The silver-haired man one last time checked the saddle and then stood behind the brunet, so close the bard must have felt his breath on his exposed skin and thick hair because he visibly shivered and turned around to face him in a second.

“W-what are you doing?”

Geralt hated how lost the poet looked, even if he tried to smile through his nervousness.

“I’m putting you on, Roach.” The witcher grunted with a scowl. He thought it was apparent, they were ready to leave, and it was clear that Jaskier, in this state, can’t sit up on the back of the mare by himself.

“I beg your pardon?”

The bard’s face could not get any redder than the way it was in that moment, and Geralt had that sly, slightly devious grin on his lips while the bard gaped at him. He stood closer, chest to chest, nearly touching the brunet who swallowed so shakily it made his adam’s apple bob up and down in a way that made the witcher’s mouth water.

“I’m not going to make you walk, bard.” Geralt sighed, and it riled him up that the poet even thought the witcher will make him follow them on his feet in this state.

“Oh, I’m allowed?” Jaskier was honestly surprised, and the mutant felt like shit. “Well, if I know this before, I would have pretended to be blind weeks ago.” The brunet laughed loudly, and it felt terrific to see him smile again, but it didn’t help how much Geralt hated himself right now. “N-not like I’m pretending. Come on. I can feel your glares.” The bard joked and grinned triumphantly when the mutant snorted.

Jaskier’s cheeky grin vanished as soon as Geralt’s strong fingers dug into his sides, and he was effortlessly lifted off the ground. The poet let out a yelp while he grabbed the witcher’s wrist and let himself be thrown around like he weighed nothing.

His bottom met with the smooth leather of the saddle, and he felt the horse move a little bit in between his quivering thighs. He squeezed Roach with his legs as he frantically looked for something to hold onto.

“Jaskier?”

Geralt’s voice was low, and it made the poet’s spine turn into something entirely made of liquid.

“Yeah?” He tried to find his own tone with zero success but what happened next was something he never even dared to imagine before.

There was a slight pull on the saddle, and he felt Geralt’s larger body move behind him. With one swift movement, the mutant was sitting just right there, his broad chest pressed against Jaskier’s shoulder blades. Firm thighs were caging his own thinner legs, fitting together perfectly like fingers laced together.

The brunet’s breath stuck inside his lungs. His lips were open as he gulped down some air, but nothing was coming out, not even a choked sound.

“I got you.”

Those three words were whispered into his ears from so close he felt the dampness of Geralt’s murmuring. He was aware he couldn’t see, but he still closed his eyes to feel the witcher’s sigh with his whole body.

_It was a promise._

Not just about riding a horse or staying on Roach’s back, but about their future. About the road ahead of them and Jaskier believed in Geralt more than he believed in anyone or anything before.

“Don’t let me fall, please.”

He chuckled because he tried his best to stop himself from shivering like a leaf. He was biting his bottom lip so hard he was sure it will bruise when Geralt’s gloved hands found his own trembling fingers and moved them until he could safely hold onto the saddle. Jaskier’s fingernails carved into the leather deeply when those strong arms closed around his ribcage from both sides as the monster hunter got a hold on the reins.

He couldn’t even imagine what he smelled like at that moment. He was so overwhelmed with emotions he was sure the mutant was choking on them. Jaskier tried to control his heartbeat and his racing mind, but each time Roach took a step, Geralt’s figure brushed against his backside, and the bard had trouble with focusing on anything but the fact how close they were.

He couldn’t see a damn thing. Looking around was out of the question. He couldn’t talk nor sing. He was sure if a noise came out of his throat, it would be nothing but a whimper. He tried to imagine the road, the forest, and the path, but each time he had a vision in his head, it was Geralt, and himself pressed together on a chestnut-brown horse.

Jaskier groaned and rolled his useless eyes.

“Are you in pain?” The witcher sounded genuinely concerned, and the bard tried not to groan when he felt those words thunder inside of the mutant’s chest.

“No. Don’t worry, it’s just everything catching up with me now.” Jaskier lied so swimmingly it even surprised himself, and he hoped that Geralt didn’t hear the way his heart was skipping.

“Want to… talk about it?” The witcher forced those words out like it was physically painful for him, and the poet couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Talk about it? I think this is the first time you asked me to talk about something.”

“I thought it would help.” Geralt mumbled with a frown, and now Jaskier truly cackled.

“Oh, my Dear Witcher. I don’t want to trouble you with my problems. Don’t worry. I’m fine.”

The troubadour was sure that Geralt blamed himself deeply for what happened. He didn’t need to hear Jaskier’s lamenting as well to make his life even more miserable. He appreciated the thought, regardless, and wanted to tell that to the silent man who sat behind him, but Geralt surprised him again.

“It’s no trouble. I want to hear it.” The silver-haired monster slayer croaked it out, and he was telling the truth for a change.

Jaskier’s scent was hurting his nose. It was sharp and sour from fear and misery. He wanted that heavy, sugary smell back. He craved it. He got so used to it by now he found himself leaning closer to the poet and looking for that sweet aroma in between those bouncing locks.

The bard was gobsmacked and so fucking giggly he actually considered for a second to turn around and wrap his arms around the witcher in a tight hug. He didn’t. He could barely keep his balance as it is, but maybe, just maybe, he moved backward to feel the pressure of that fierce body against his skin a little bit firmer.

“Well, because you asked so nicely.” Jaskier faked a groan and heard the mutant snort behind him.

“I absolutely lost my sense of time. I don’t know if it is still morning or is getting dark already. I don’t know it the Sun is shining on me, or thy sky is all cloudy, and I don’t even know why it matters, but it does. S-sometimes I don’t even know if my eyes are open or not, so if it makes you uncomfortable, just let me know, and I will stop. I feel like I will fall off Roach in any second, and I know you would catch me, I mean, at least I hope you would, but I can’t help it. I feel like I’m slipping off. I-I’m scared that I can’t perform like this, because what idiot would watch a blind bard stumbling around in a tavern. I don’t know how many coins I still have or if it will be enough for the journey. I’m terrified, and-”

“Jaskier?” Geralt interrupted when he started to feel the trembles shaking the brunet more violently. Jaskier fell silent and swallowed down whatever nonsense tried to race out of his mouth. He waited. He waited because he felt the witcher inhale slowly, and whatever the other man wanted to say, Jaskier wanted to hear it clearly.

“The Sun is up. Right above us. It’s lunchtime. No clouds. I can’t see your face. It doesn’t matter if your eyes are open or not. Roach flicked her ears. She doesn’t care either.” Geralt’s deep, monotone voice was soothing in a weird way that only maybe Jaskier could appreciate it. And him trying to describe the world around them and not saying anything at the same time was rather hilarious.

The poet bit back a tiny chuckle and let the silver-haired man talk. He grew to love his rumbling, rusty voice, and finally, it wasn’t Jaskier interrogating the other, but Geralt talking freely because he wanted to.

“You won’t fall. Roach wouldn’t let you. Or me.” Jaskier quietly thanked Geralt for that and scratched the soft fur on the mare’s neck, earning a happy snort from the horse.

“Don’t worry about the coins. I got it.”

_I got you._

Jaskier only nodded. He was afraid if he would try and say something, it would come out as a cry, so he stayed quiet. He didn’t want to ruin the moment, because it was perfect.

The bard was jabbering for a while about and old teacher of his in the Academy. Geralt quietly listened to the young man’s light-hearted story and found himself smile with the poet. Jaskier’s little tales were always jumping through time and were filled with millions of details no one needed to know, yet they made him what he was. This chattering bardling that annoyed the living soul out of the witcher, yet Geralt wanted to protect him with his whole being.

The mutant must have got lost in his head because he missed the second when Jaskier went silent, and he only realised the poet fell asleep when his back bumped against Geralt’s chest.

The monster hunter blinked at the sleeping brunet between his arms, and the way he gently swung from left to right as Roach walked. Geralt gripped the reins with one hand and slowly snaked his other arm over Jaskier’s chest. He carefully pulled the bard towards himself until the brunet was fully leaning against him.

It was a tiny mumble escaping from the poet’s lips, more like a moan than an actual word and his head bobbed back against the mutant’s shoulder. His thick hair tickled Geralt’s chin, and throat as the bard unconsciously buried his head further into the warmness.

Geralt puffed out a laugh through his nose. The way Jaskier was looking for his warmth even when he was asleep was quite adorable. Roach felt them shift on her back and neighed.

“Shh, he is asleep.” He hushed, and the horse just shook her big head.

He let Jaskier dream about colours, sunny landscapes, and a happy audience.

The bardling needed it. He deserved some peace after this morning. And Geralt enjoyed the way his lithe body felt against his bigger form. They fit together perfectly.

Like if they were meant for each other.

Even if Geralt knew that wasn’t true. It was just an idea his exhausted brain came up with, and he enjoyed it for a second before he locked it away somewhere he won’t find it again.

Jaskier woke up to a gentle shake. He blinked his eyes open and rubbed his face with the heels of his palms before the realisation hit him.

“Oh.” He let out a pained chuckle and shook his head.

He was still in the saddle but leaning back against something rock solid. His own body was loose and well-rested, like if he slept for years until he felt something move across his chest.

Jaskier shivered when Geralt’s strong arm that was holding him in place dropped into his lap, once the poet was fully awake.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fell asleep on you.” He apologised hastily and moved forward until there was a cold breeze between them, and the poet already missed the heat.

“There is a river nearby.” Geralt spoke, and Jaskier was grateful for the man not mentioning how he slept and used the witcher as a pillow. “If you want to stop.” He added, and the answer was just some eager nodding from the younger man.

Just like he helped Jaskier getting on the horse, the witcher helped him getting off of her as well. He stood next to the brunet, and without any further announcements, he held the bard’s tiny waist and lifted him off Roach. Like how a father helps their child after a horse riding lesson. Effortlessly and calmly as if they did this before hundreds of times.

Jaskier’s boots touched the ground, and Geralt’s grip softened on his sides, but they were still there, holding him in place.

“Thank you.” He tried a smile, but he was sure it was nothing more than a tired little curl of his lips. “Could you maybe-”

“Hm.” Jaskier didn’t need to finish his sentence. He heard Geralt shift around him, and strong fingers wrapped around his forearm once again. “It’s steep.” The witcher muttered, and it sent a warm wave all over the poet’s body.

Geralt was so careful around him as if he was made of glass, and the witcher was a hammer.

The mutant held his arm and guided him until the bard was kneeling in the tall, soft grass while the silver-haired man rolled up his sleeves. Jaskier could have done it by himself. He didn’t need his sight for something so simple as rolling his sleeves, but he was a selfish, spoiled brat. He was greedy, and he loved the feeling of Geralt’s fingers on his skin, so he let him do it.

He let the witcher wash his hands and forearms, keep telling himself that he wouldn’t see the spots and dirt on his skin, that is why he let the man do it.

Geralt stayed by his side while Jaskier washed his own face, keeping a palm on the brunet’s chest, making sure he won’t lose his balance and fell into the river. The small light-brown curls next to the bardling’s ears got wet and bounced each time a droplet fell onto the ground as the bard moved.

Jaskier sighed delightfully, as the layer of dust and grime was finally washed off, and his cheeks got cold from the water.

The poet was unaware of how the witcher’s breathing became laboured. He was unaware of how those golden eyes hungrily followed every single drop of water sliding down on his pale neck until they disappeared under his shirt.

Jaskier couldn’t see the way Geralt frowned and bared his pointy teeth when he caught himself staring.

No. Not staring. _Wanting._

The mutant shook his head and moved away, dropping his palm from where it laid on the poet’s chest.

“Well, how do I look?” Jaskier’s thrilled voice interrupted Geralt’s glowering, and he lifted that amber gaze to the smiling young man.

His face was now clean and slightly red from all the scrubbing. His hair was clinging to his forehead, and his eyes… those fucking cornflower-blue eyes were bluer than the sky itself. The mutant had to swallow.

“Fine.” He lied blatantly and slowly brushed his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, enjoying the way the bard’s pink lips parted in a surprised little o shape.

There was nothing on the poet’s skin to wipe off. He was bloody perfect. Geralt just wanted to touch him, before he cowardly denies his desire to be close to the other man.

For a few moments, he let his hand linger there on the soft skin as he studied the brunet’s gentle smile.

Nobody looked at him like that before…

_I should have left before it was too late._ He thought that once Jaskier is healed and the curse had been lifted, it will be nearly impossible to leave the musician behind.

Geralt moved away quickly and stood up, pulling the poet with him as well.

They had to go.

Temeria couldn’t be close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyheyhey peeps!
> 
> Lemme know in the comments what you think of this chapter :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it!
> 
> Are we ready for this fluffy angst? I hope so :D
> 
> catch me on twitter if you wanna, 
> 
> and have a lovely day!
> 
> @doberainbow


	13. Rocky road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and I'm backbackbackback back again with a steamy chapter... no... no literally steamy :D
> 
> Enjoy folks!

Geralt could already hear the buzzing of the nearby town while they were still in the forest. Jaskier’s quiet, soft humming couldn’t subdue the noise of humans and farm animals. But it was lovely, nonetheless.

The bard was sitting on Roach alone, the witcher walking next to them, glancing up at the brunet. Jaskier held a small flower in his grip, childishly playing with the petals, running his fingertips along with the tiny leaves. Geralt gave it to him without any explanation after he put the poet on the horse. He couldn’t really give a reason for it why he did it, he just wanted to see the other smile, and oh, Jaskier did smile at him broadly. The mutant could feel his own heart pick up the pace when the young songbird grinned at him and lifted the tiny buttercup to his nose.

Geralt shook his head to chase away the memory. He looked up at the young man who was now fiddling with his notebook. He wasn’t scribbling down anything. He just placed the small flower between the pages carefully and slid the small book back into his pack. The mutant watched as those pale, talented fingers tied a knot on the sack and went back to grip on the saddle.

“We are getting close to the village.” The silver-haired man broke the silence first, and immediately he could smell the panic and worry in the air.

“Oh, are we? That’s good. Great. Yeah. Brilliant.”

Geralt didn’t need to be a witcher to see and hear that; in fact, it wasn’t great. Jaskier’s face fell, and the mutant saw he started to nip on his bottom lip to calm his nerves.

“You don’t want to stay in the town? It would be safer than out in the wild.” Geralt asked because even with all his mutations, he wasn’t a mind reader, and even if he would be, he was sure he couldn’t solve that endless puzzle and impossible maze that Jaskier’s mind was.

The brunet’s shoulders slouched, Geralt stopped, and Roach followed him, lazily lowering her head and munching on a patch of long grass. Jaskier let out a long exhale before putting on that terribly forged smile and looked in the mutant’s direction.

“I don’t want people to stare at me as I blindly stumble over my own feet, and I know I won’t see them, but… I… don’t want anyone to know that I’m like this. If the rumour would reach Lettennhove or Oxenfurt, I would never hear the end of it. If Valdo, that daft cunt would hear about it I…. Gods, I would rather kill myself than hear the songs he wrote about Jaskier The Blind Bard. That talentless twat.”

The pure anger and hatred that made the brunet frown and scrunch up his nose could be rather adorable in a different situation. But now Geralt could smell the bitterness in the air, and it made his lungs tighten.

He slowly untied the knot on his cloak and shook it off his shoulders. The heavy material was making a loud noise, and Jaskier’s confused eyes flicked here and there before Geralt moved closer to the mare and threw the cloak over the poet’s shoulders.

“Pull the hood over your face. Keep your head down. We will go straight to the rooms. No one will know who you are.” Geralt’s monotone, raspy voice, was uncharacteristically soft. He smoothed down the dirty cloak over Jaskier’s arm and pulled it on his thighs. Making sure the brunet was wrapped entirely into the dark fabric.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered inside his ribcage, and he was sure the witcher could hear it loud and clear, but he couldn’t help it. The cloak was still warm from Geralt’s body, and it smelled like smoke and pinewood. Just like the mutant himself. The brunet had to admit it that this combination started to become his favourite scent quite fast. Alongside with the smell of a rainy forest, especially if it meant that Geralt will sleep close to him to keep him warm.

Jaskier pulled the hood down into his face and breathed in deeply.

It smelled like safety. It smelled like home.

“Thank you.” He whispered into the fur around the hood and heard as Geralt clicked with his tongue, making Roach move under him.

When they reached the borders of the town, the witcher could feel how anxious the other became. Jaskier held his head low and was breathing too fast for his liking. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the saddle. Geralt moved to grab the reins, making sure he brushed his fingers over the back of Jaskier’s hands.

They didn’t need words. Jaskier understood him without anything spoken between them. He knew it will be alright. He knew that no matter what, the monster-hunter will protect him. He felt Geralt starting to move his hand away, but Jaskier grabbed it. He wrapped his stiff fingers around the witcher’s fingers and squeezed it meaningfully. The brunet hoped that the hood was covering his face enough to hide his extensive blush. He even turned away a tiny bit, letting a smile take over his lips.

Geralt couldn’t help it but stare at their conjoined hands. He knew that Jaskier was pale, but against his own snowy skin, the bard looked tanned. As if the poet was holding a ghost. A fading memory.

The witcher ran his thumb over Jaskier’s knuckles and mumbled quietly.

“Don’t worry.”

Jaskier could hear people gossip around them. It was nothing new. They always did. They always whispered about the White Wolf, The Butcher of Blaviken. But now… now the poet felt like they were all talking about him. Laughing at his misery. Pointing fingers, he couldn’t see, just feel. He tried to even out his breathing. He kept running his fingers over the callouses and scars on the mutant’s palm. Even after all those decades of sword-wielding, there were some parts of his hand that were unusually soft, and Jaskier found all of them.

“Geralt?” He murmured, keeping his voice low and barely audible. “Have I ever told you about when Valdo hid ink in my morning tea? M-my mouth, teeth, and tongue turned all black, but nobody told me. I figured out after our classes ended. One professor pulled me over and told me. I’ve never felt so ashamed in my whole life. What… what I’m trying to say, or more like ask is, please just tell me if I do something or look ridiculous. Will you?”

Roach stopped. None of them pulled on the reins or gave any signal to her. She was way too smart. She felt both of the men tense up. Jaskier groaned and closed his eyes. He knew that the witcher was glaring at him with that face. That face he made when the bard did or said something remarkably stupid. Geralt sighed.

“Take your feet out of the stirrups!” Jaskier nodded awkwardly and did as he was told to. Geralt’s strong fingers were immediately holding his sides. His hipbones curled perfectly into the mutant’s palms as the man lifted him off the horse without any struggle. Jaskier would lie if he would say it didn’t affect his poor, weak heart. He grew to love how effortlessly the man could put him around.

Geralt moved his arms, pulled the cloak tighter around the brunet’s body. The young man shivered and kept his head low. Eyes frenziedly looking everywhere on the ground. The mutant hated to see him so lifeless. He curled a finger under Jaskier’s chin and gently lifted his head.

He could see the panic on that young face, so he stepped closer to hide him away from peering eyes.

“Geralt what-”

“Black teeth or not. Blind or not. What you do is nobody’s concerns. Don’t worry about what others say or think of you, bard.” Geralt rumbled and dropped his arm before the urge to touch those rosy lips could overpower him.

“You know it’s funny how I keep telling you the same, yet you never listen to me.” The bard laughed dryly, and Geralt reached under the hood to ruffle those brown locks, earning a genuine chuckle from the youngster.

“I’m a monster, Jaskier. You are just cursed.”

Jaskier already opened his mouth to argue back. That tiny furious line was back between his eyebrows, but the witcher didn’t let him talk.

“Grab onto my arm. Keep your head down.”

Well, that was an offer he couldn’t say no to. He wrapped his fingers around the offered arm and tried to stop the whine that nearly escaped his mouth when he felt Geralt’s muscles flex under his grip.

The witcher heard that small hitch in Jaskier’s heartbeat. He had a smug grin on his face when they left Roach in front of the tavern, and he slowly guided the bard into the establishment. Jaskier stepped closer. His breathing was getting hasty. His fingers tightened around his arm. Geralt wasn’t wasting time. He didn’t care about the questioning looks. He didn’t care about the murmuring. Nothing mattered, just Jaskier, and his safety.

The mutant marched to the bar. The innkeeper was glaring at him. His right hand was hidden behind his back, probably holding a knife.

Humans…

Geralt could gut this man like a fish even before anyone could react to it in this tavern. That butter-knife he was gripping so fiercely couldn’t save a soul in this building, yet every once in a while, someone thought they can take the witcher. It was just as amusing as frustrating it was.

The mutant frowned at the man, and maybe Jaskier felt the change in his posture because he started rubbing small circles into Geralt’s arm.

“Is everything alright?” The bard whispered, slightly turning towards the silver-haired man but still not lifting his head.

Geralt pressed his lips together and raised an eyebrow at the innkeeper, who, after a few seconds of deliberating and eyeing the witcher’s swords and huge frame, sighed and placed the knife back into a drawer. It was indeed a butter-knife.

The mutant snorted.

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Yeah. Good. I hope you are not glaring at anyone.”

“I’m looking as kindly as I can.” Geralt snarled while the owner looked confusedly at the two of them. Jaskier laughed quietly and shook his hooded head.

“Your kind is not welcomed here, Butcher.” The man had a gruff voice. Nearly as rusty as Geralt’s, yet it didn’t fill the poet up with warmness. No. It was cold, disgusted, and it made the bard cringe. Jaskier was already opening his mouth, but the witcher couldn’t let the brunet start a fight while he couldn’t protect himself.

Jaskier, on any other day, could easily defend himself. Geralt was terrified most of the time, thinking that the brave bardling will throw punches with the wrong guy, and the brunet will not just end up with a black eye or a bruise. Most of the time, it was enough if the witcher just behind him and stared at the angry crowd, but this time, he couldn’t let that happen. He could be a second late. Only one lousy movement and Jaskier could stumble into a knife. Geralt couldn’t risk that.

“We are not here to cause trouble. I have coin. And you have an empty room for us, I assume.” Geralt rumbled and dropped a weighty leather pouch on the bar.

“I need more than this for two rooms.” The man grabbed the bag and poured some of the money into his palm.

“One room. Two plates of dinner and a bath. It should be enough.” The man took a good look again at the unusual pair, and after a long minute, he reached under the bar and threw a key at the mutant. Geralt caught it effortlessly. Giving a short nod to the innkeeper.

“The last one on the left. And Butcher? This is a peaceful town. Tomorrow morning you two will be gone for good.” The witcher didn’t bother with an answer. He led Jaskier through the tavern. Between tables, chairs, and silent people, all blatantly gawking at them.

He carefully pushed the bard in front of him on the narrow stairs. Two big palms on the small of Jaskier’s back to guide him on his wavering legs. Geralt kept murmuring words behind him.

_Two more steps. Turn to the left. Nearly there._

At this point, the brunet’s mind was nothing but mashed potatoes cooked for too long, stirred too harshly.

Geralt’s hands on him burned his skin.

The witcher led him inside the room. The man pushed him down on the bed and locked the door behind them.

“W-well, that was rather tense. Let’s never do that again, shall we?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier heard the man come closer, his steps were loud on the floor, and the bard couldn’t help but lick his lip anxiously. Geralt kneeled before him, pushing the hood back away from the brunet’s face, slowly reaching for his boots to help him get comfortable. The poet felt the mutant’s fingers on his calf and immediately stood up.

“I’m alright. Don’t worry about me, Geralt. Go, do your routine. Brood. Clean your swords. Meditate. And brood a little more. I’m fine. If you could hand me my lute, I will leave you alone for tonight. If I can’t perform, I might as well just practise.”

Jaskier lied through his teeth. He wasn’t fine. And he did indeed want Geralt to help him undress. For Melitele’s tits. He wanted this man to undress him, touch him, hold him, and do whatever the hell he wanted. But not now. Not when Jaskier couldn’t fully appreciate it. Not when he couldn’t see Geralt’s face. His expression. Those golden eyes flashing from lust… hopefully.

Fuck… he already missed seeing the witcher’s grumpy face.

Geralt could smell that sugary scent on the bard again. It was sitting thickly in the air, yet the young man looked distressed. He didn’t like the panic on the other’s face, but his emotions were too tangled to try and untangle them now.

The witcher stood up and gave the instrument to the troubadour, who softly smiled at him.

Geralt could easily wield his swords blindly. After all these decades, the steel and silver became a part of his body. But watching Jaskier playing on the lute without seeing anything was mesmerising. All those strings and still those talented fingers never made a mistake. Every sound. Every chord was perfectly played.

The mutant wanted to touch those arms. Ran his fingers through those purplish veins. Feel the strength in them. Let Jaskier’s skin heat up his own.

Geralt cleared his throat. He had to take care of Roach, and it was better if he airs his head out.

“I have to take care of Roach. Don’t open the door for anyone. Not even for the maids.”

Jaskier stopped playing and looked up towards where the mutant stood.

“You know you sound like my Mother. She used to lock me into my room. Put guards in front of my door. Told the maids to leave me alone until I learn how to behave.” The poet said with a grin and started to play a quick, rhythmical tune. Something he usually plays when he wants to urge the crowd to dance with him.

“Why did she lock you away?” Geralt scowled at the brunet, who just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

“That was the only way she could keep me there. Did you know that I’m a Viscount? She wanted me to get into politics like everyone else in the family. Follow the traditions. Well, I said, ‘bollocks’. Nearly broke my ankle when I climbed out of my window.”

The witcher’s amber eyes snapped to the window in the room. They were small, looked like they haven’t been opened in years, but easy enough to climb through it. Even blindly.

“Don’t worry, Dear. I’m not planning to escape. Go look after our Queen. I will be fine cooped up in here until my big, strong Witcher comes back.”

Geralt’s heart was beating too fast to be normal. Those names, names that someone uses for their loved ones, partners even, started to affect him. And Jaskier used them more frequently. And each time he did, he smiled at the witcher so brightly Geralt felt like he will be consumed by flames.

“I will be right back.” He grunted while fleeing from the room, running down the stairs, still hearing the lute music as he walked out of the tavern.

He led the mare to the stables. Took the rein, packs, and saddle off her. The horse could feel him being deep in his thoughts. She kept poking and butting her big head against Geralt’s chest. The mutant smiled at Roach and stroked her soft fur.

“We made a mistake, Girl.” He sighed, and the mare neighed at him. “We got attached to him, didn’t we?”

Geralt met one of the bar maidens on the stairs. He took their dinners and thanked the young blonde girl who just ran away as soon as the witcher held the plates, not even stopping until she was out on the streets. The witcher couldn’t blame her. He looked horrible. Even more than his usual ghostly pale and dishevelled look.

Jaskier was there where he left him. Smiling up at him kindly when the mutant pushed the door open.

“Do I smell roasted potatoes?”

Geralt laughed nearly inaudible.

“I see your senses are getting sharper.” He teased, and Jaskier put down the lute, reaching for the plate with a smirk.

“Give me a few days, and I will be able to smell blood from miles away.” He sent a wink towards the man, who sat down on a crooked chair in the corner and watched as the brunet moved his fingers around the rim of the plate, looking for the cutlery. Geralt shook his head.

“Eat with your hands, bard. There is nobody to impress here.”

The poet froze. Grinning shyly at his dinner before he reached for a slice of potato and popped it into his mouth, licking off the greasy seasoning from his fingers with a moan.

“Maybe I’m trying to impress you, Darling.” He said with his mouth full and reached for another slice.

And Geralt was impressed already.

He was impressed by him the first day they met, and this young man decided to follow the Butcher of Blaviken. Or how he stood up against the elves. He was impressed each time Jaskier performed after days on the road, even if he could barely stand. He is impressed by how emphatic and emotional the brunet was.

He was surprised by Jaskier each and every single day.

They ate in silence. The poet occasionally groaned or complimented the food. Geralt kept picking up pieces and dropping them back on his plate. He had no appetite. He lost it when Jaskier looked at him with those loving eyes and gentle smile.

Not too long after, there was a timid knock on the door. Jaskier turned away on the bed and stared down into his lap. Some stable boys carried a large tub inside the room, and young girls in aprons took turns to fill it up with steaming-hot water.

The elderly innkeeper was in the doorway. Keeping an eye on Geralt, who stood in the corner with his arms folded together on his chest. The old man kept staring at Jaskier on the bed, who just sat there like a statue.

The witcher knew how it seemed to others. A monster dragging a shy boy with him who is even afraid to look at others while he flinched at every single noise. Geralt knew exactly what everyone who came into their room thought about them, and it made his stomach flip.

“You need anything else, Butcher?” Asked the man, nearly spitting in front of Geralt judging by how he looked at the monster-hunter. The mutant shook his head and walked to the door, ready to slam it in the man’s face.

“Well, then. Just… be quiet. Nobody wants to hear whatever you two are doing here.” And with that, Geralt shut the door so hard the whole tavern shook from the force.

He could smell the embarrassment in the air. He could hear the way the blood rushed into Jaskier’s cheeks. When he turned around, he saw the bard sitting on the bed, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“That’s a first. No one ever thought I was a boy-whore before.” Jaskier spoke firmly, trying to force a smile on his lips, even if his cheeks were still flaming.

“He doesn’t know what he is talking about.” Geralt hissed, and the poet turned around to look at him, except… he couldn’t actually see the witcher. It was just a force habit.

“What? Don’t you think I’m pretty enough to be a rent-boy?” Jaskier grinned at the mutant, who let out a short snort. “Come ooon! Admit it. I’m charming.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Geralt rolled his yellow eyes. “I know you see how delightful I am.”

“Hm. Very.” Geralt deadpanned, and the victorious laugh that exploded out of Jaskier was leaving goosebumps all over his skin.

For a second, the witcher was sure if one day the Sun would disappear from the sky, everyone could use Jaskier’s smile to bring light into their lives.

“You should go first.” Geralt muttered and looked at the massive tub in the middle of the room. Usually, there is a separate area to take a bath in these inns, but in a tiny village like this, the mutant wasn’t expecting something so luxurious.

Jaskier's mouth was left open. His wide, azure-blue eyes were somewhat startled.

“Oh. Yes. Sure. Good idea. Defrosting my fingers could be useful.” He babbled, and his eyelashes fluttered as he got off the bed. Geralt walked over to the young man, who quickly lowered his head and started biting the inside of his cheek.

“I will help.” Geralt said quietly, and Jaskier made a pained face at that.

“Please don’t take it the wrong way, but I would like to do this alone. I know dignity and pride are so… last century but, I just…”

The poet’s face was unbelievably red. Geralt wasn’t sure if it was the bath-water making the room foggy or the small furnace in Jaskier’s body. The young musician looked so lost. So flustered and lost.

Geralt wanted to hold him against his chest until he smiles and giggles again.

“Just tell me if you need me.” He said and frowned as Jaskier nodded at him shyly.

They shared rooms before multiple times. They always gave each other the privacy without asking, but now, because Jaskier lost his eyesight, the mutant knew he had to make an extra effort to make the other feel comfortable around him.

“I… uhm turned around.” Geralt mumbled as he walked back to his pack, reaching for his swords to clean and polish them.

“Oh. T-thank you.”

The witcher could hear Jaskier slowly walking over to the tub. Leaning against it with the back of his thighs as he took off the tunic. Letting it drop to the floor. Geralt heard as Jaskier untied his trousers, popped the buttons open, reached for his breeches.

The witcher had trouble breathing. His fingers slightly shook as they hovered over the silver blade. He glared at his own hands, curling up his fingers into a fist before straightening them again.

Never before, he thought about watching Jaskier undress. Never in his life, he wanted to watch another male…. one of his friends, that is, take their clothes off. Geralt was never interested in anyone like that before.

He enjoyed sex like everyone else. It helped him unwind. Loosen up. But he never _felt_ for someone. He never _wanted_ to see someone undress. He happened to undress many girls before. Some he paid for, some of those just wanted to try that famous witcher stamina. But Geralt never ever before wanted to watch someone getting undressed.

He didn’t believe in teasing. If he wanted to have sex, he didn’t need all of the dancing around and flirting. He wanted to fuck. Simple, that is. He wanted to let the steam out and get lost in somebody else’s body.

But now…

Now Geralt had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He had to stop himself from turning around and watch that light-skinned, toned body disappear under the water.

The mutant cursed in his head. Whatever he was feeling, he couldn’t let it spread any further.

Now it was just a small flame, a spark maybe. If Geralt doesn’t suffocate that heat now, it will swell into a forest fire, impossible to tame and stop.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s faint voice grabbed him out of his thoughts. He looked down into his lap, where he didn’t even realised how much he was squeezing the blade. His palm had red marks on it, nearly breaking the skin where the sword bit into his flesh.

“Could you please hand me my soap from my bag?”

The witcher stood up stiffly. Baring his teeth for a second before he turned around and marched to Jaskier’s pack. Geralt found the soaps easy enough. Citrus and lavender scented. He chose the latter. Not letting his mind go down into that rabbit hole of how much he liked the flowery scent on Jaskier’s skin.

The brunet was sitting in the piping-hot water. Knees pulled up. His head slightly turned towards the silver-haired man.

Geralt’s eyes against his will wandered over broad, lightly pink shoulders. He froze for a second. Shook his head and evened out his breathing before he walked to the poet.

“Here.” His voice was harsh. Like the sound of wooden wheels on a rocky road.

“Thank you.” Jaskier reached out. It was the wrong direction. The mutant stepped closer and placed the soap into his open palm, closing his fingers around the hand to make sure the bar doesn’t slip away.

Geralt walked backward, but he didn’t turn away again.

He couldn’t. Nor he wanted to.

He knew that it wasn’t right. He should respect Jaskier, and fuck, he really did. It was just something so mesmerising about how he kept soaping up his arms, shoulders, and neck. The way he scrubbed his face. Running long, elegant fingers over slim thighs and strong calves. Creating bubbles on his smooth skin.

Geralt forgot everything else. If anyone would ask him, he was sure in that moment nothing else existed, just him, that dimly lit room, and Jaskier.

He didn’t even seem to be aware when he walked closer to the young man. Or how he breathed in the bard’s scent through his mouth. He wanted to taste him. He wanted Jaskier on his tongue.

“Hey, Geralt? Sorry to bother you but could you give me a towel, perhaps?”

The mutant snapped out of it.

He caught his own reflection in the steamy mirror. His pupils were dilated. Fangs bared and ready to sink into freckled shoulders.

He looked like an animal in heat.

“Geralt?” Jaskier called his name again and turned around in the tub.

“Here.” The mutant whispered, and the bard smiled, holding out his hand again. Geralt moved slowly, like an ancient clock that never been oiled and taken care of. Rusty and rugged.

Jaskier touched his wrist by accident. Wet fingertips pushed against his pulse, and the witcher wanted to reach out and _take._

Geralt stared at the brunet as he wiped down his arms and slowly, hesitantly stood up, wrapping the towel around a narrow hip. The mutant’s mouth was dry and water at the same time. He could not turn his head away.

How he didn’t see Jaskier like _this_ before?

This… so… gorgeous.

Jaskier stepped out of the tub, leaving wet footprints behind as he walked to the bed. Geralt wanted to follow him.

He didn’t know… or he didn’t want to know what he would do once he reached Jaskier, but he knew that he wanted to feel the warm, wet skin under his palms. He watched how the bard wide shoulders ran down into thin hips. The valley where his spine was. The dimples at the bottom of his back. Strong arms and delicate fingers.

For a second, Geralt imagined what it would feel like to have those legs wrapped around his waist. Pulling him closer. Pulling him in.

“Geralt? Go hop in the tub before the water gets cold. I left the soap on the side.” Jaskier’s cheerful voice was a bright contrast against his dark thoughts.

The witcher needed to physically rip himself away from the sight of the brunet’s body. As if his eyes were glued there.

Geralt started to pull and shook his clothes off. He didn’t know if he was angry at his own stupidity and weakness or hated Jaskier for being so… so annoyingly, _Jaskier_.

“Hey, Geralt?” Came the hesitant voice again, and the witcher turned around to see the brunet fidget on the bed where he sat. Cheeks still crimson from the heat. Hair damp and eyes so blazing it looked like stars on the night sky. “Could you please pass me my pack? I should put my breeches on before I go to bed.” Jaskier nervously licked his top lip and scratched his left shoulder. Collarbones shifting under his skin, casting dark shadows and forming long, elegant shapes.

Geralt, for a moment, wanted to sink his teeth in that tender flesh right there. He knew that Jaskier was bruising easily. Like a peach. He could just nip his skin or grab him a little bit harshly, and he would see his own marks on the bard for days. The thought made him dizzy as he walked over to Jaskier’s bag.

He placed it next to the young man on the bed, who just breathed out a thank you and started digging in between his clothes.

Geralt was only wearing his leather trousers. It was untied and unbuttoned, and sometimes those blue eyes shifted and looked directly at the mutant. It made him shiver. His breathing was getting faster, as well.

Jaskier triumphantly pulled out one of his clean, white breeches and placed the bag on the floor next to the leg of the bed. When he stood up from the bed, their chest nearly touched.

The brunet had no idea that Geralt was still standing there like a creep lurking in the darkness.

The monster-hunter could feel his air hitting the witcher’s naked chest.

For a second, he thought about how easy it would be to just step closer. Let that slim body press against his, and see that dazed look on Jaskier’s face.

But he didn’t. Geralt turned around when the bard’s fingers started to untie his towel, and the witcher was already immersed into the water when the brunet shimmied his way into his underwear.

The witcher let his head drop against the rim of the tub. He untied his hair and let it fall everywhere as he stared at the ceiling.

Geralt was a mutant for a long time. His control over his own body was impeccable. He knew exactly what he was capable of. How his body is going to move, react, and heal.

He was able to manipulate his own senses. Geralt could even control his own blood-flow. He could force his heart to beat slower if he needed for meditation or faster when he wanted that rush.

Yet now, his body acted on its own.

His belly was writhing. He uncomfortable shifted in the tub and groaned.

Geralt was hard.

His whole body was worked up, and he was so fucking aroused he couldn’t think straight.

He dropped his head to the side, watching the bard from behind the curtains of silver hair.

Jaskier was playing on his lute, but the witcher didn’t hear the music. He heard the way the poet’s heart beat in his chest. He heard the way the young man hummed softly.

Geralt even heard as a single drop of water ran down on Jaskier’s shoulder and biceps only to hang on the edge of his elbow before it fell onto the bed-sheet.

The mutant had both of his arms just dangling on the side of the tub. He didn’t even realise when his right hand dipped under the surface of the water.

He didn’t touch himself.

He could have. It would be so easy to let his palm that laid on his thigh to move further up and wrap his fingers around himself.

Geralt had to bit into his tongue. Even the thought of it made his hips twitch.

It would be easy to stay quiet as a church mouse. Watch Jaskier while he pleasured himself. Fuck, it would be so easy.

And so wrong.

He knew he could get away with it. The bard would never know. Geralt could bite into his own arm to muffle his moans and cries.

But his hand stayed there. Fingers bruising his own thighs. Nails carving into pale, scarred flesh. His cock throbbing against his flat stomach.

“Fuck.” Geralt closed his eyes and turned away.

“Hm? Did you say something, Dear?” Jaskier asked as he stopped the lively music for a second, looking towards the tub where the witcher suffered.

The mutant glared at the ceiling again. Nearly burning a hole into the wood.

“No.” He croaked it out in a strained voice, and the bard kept picking the strings of his lute again.

Geralt stayed in the water until it went lukewarm. Jaskier kept asking him if he is alright if he needs any help.

Each time it was harder to lie to him.

Once the reins of his control were back in his quivering hands, he got out of the tub. Lazily drying himself off as he blew out the candles.

The smell of smoke nearly defeated the scent of honey coming from Jaskier and the thick smell of lust that was oozing out of the silver-haired man.

Jaskier was fast asleep. Noiselessly snoring on the left side of the bed. Facing towards where Geralt will lay once he can force himself to get under the blanket.

He pulled his breaches over his trembling legs and sat down on the bed. The brunet quietly mumbled something in his dream that Geralt couldn’t understand.

He looked over his shoulder and watched the bardling’s sleeping face. He was pouting, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

The witcher reached out faster than his brain was realising what he was doing. He pulled the heavy blanket over snow-white, freckled shoulders and maybe let his knuckles caress the thin skin on Jaskier’s neck.

“Damn you.” He snarled as he turned away and finally… finally understood why he felt the urge to leave before. Why every fibre of his body kept telling him to leave the poet until it was too late.

Because it was too late now. Wasn’t it?

Geralt got used to Jaskier’s company. He wanted the brunet by his side. He craved for him.

After his mind and body become addicted to him, leaving the troubadour will be harder than he can ever imagine.

Geralt shook his head.

It was still too early to think about running away. They needed to lift the curse before the mutant could be cowardly chased away by his own feelings.

And until then, he just needed to handle his desires and wants.

Geralt laid down on his back, dragging the blanket over his cold body. He let out a deep sigh when the heat trapped under the cover started to tickle his skin.

Jaskier groaned in his sleep, hand reaching out, looking for something to curl around. It found Geralt’s right arm.

The brunet’s forehead pressed against the half-globe of the witcher’s shoulder. Lips nearly touching one of Geralt’s scar. Slender legs were thrown over thick thighs, and Jaskier lastly settled down. Breathing getting slow and even.

The mutant stared into the pitch-black room.

Trying to convince himself that the cuddly, flushed brunet didn’t feel as good as it actually did. He didn’t smell as sweet as he actually did.

Geralt tried to make himself believe that it was nothing more than him being lonely for too long, and the rapid beating of his heart didn’t mean anything else.

Well… he tried at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, I hope you liked it!💕
> 
> Please please leave a comment even if its only one word. It's very much appreciated and I wanna know what you all think!
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> Come and catch me on twitter @doberainbow


	14. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well here we are folks!
> 
> WARNING: we have some bloody violence in this chapter, nothing too bad, but I wanted to warn you lovely peeps!
> 
> enjoy <3

They were running low on coins. Jaskier’s pouch was empty while Geralt’s had a few coins clinking in it, but sadly, not enough to rent a room or even a stable for a night. And the witcher couldn’t risk sleeping under the sky while the bard was so vulnerable.

The next town was just half an hour away on foot. Jaskier enjoyed the cooling breeze in the shade of the trees as Geralt let Roach rest for a while. The witcher kept his golden eyes on the young man. Hic silver chemise was wide open, chest, neck, and collarbone exposed and slightly pink from the sunlight. He had his head thrown back against a tree trunk, eyes closed, thick, dark eyelashes curled up on rosy cheeks.

He was unfairly stunning, and Geralt loved the fact that he could openly stare at the brunet. Sometimes he wished he would be any good with art. He wanted to paint Jaskier. Capture his beauty on a canvas. He wanted to write poems about the way his neck stretched. He wanted to grab a piece of clay and sculpt it until it looked like Jaskier’s gorgeous face.

But he had no talent for such things. So Geralt just stood there and let his eyes rest on the bard’s relaxed body. He only stopped staring when Roach butted her big snout against the side of his face.

“We should head for the town. I need to look for a hunt.”

Jaskier opened his eyes and looked where the rough voice came from. Geralt would give everything to have the poet directly look at him. He missed it. He missed those knowing glances and that sparkle in those mischievous eyes.

“Oh. I see.” The bard’s smile fell as if it was blown away by the wind, and the mutant felt like the temperature dropped as well. A shiver shook him as it ran down his spine. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I wish I could perform like this, but… no one wants to see a blind fool.” Jaskier muttered, and the shame quickly made the air sour around them. It hurt Geralt’s nose as if someone threw sulphuric acid in his face.

“It’s not your fault.” He said hastily, and the bard let out a strained chuckle. It wasn’t helping Geralt’s temper. “I would pay for it.”

And as soon as those words left those pale lips, Jaskier stopped playing with the sleeve of his shirt. His blue eyes widened as he looked up. Geralt needed a few seconds before his legs obeyed him, and he walked closer to the brunet, crouching down in the short patchy grass in front of him.

“I would. I… don’t say it often. Maybe I never told you, but I enjoy your performances. I honestly do.” The witcher whispered, and he was too cowardly to reach and hold those delicate hands. He wanted to, but Geralt instead clenched his fists at his sides and watched as Jaskier smiled with his head held down.

“Are you getting soft around me now, Geralt?” The bard asked cheekily, and the mutant snorted. Shaking his head with a smirk.

“You wish, bard.”

Jaskier looked up at him. Grinning like an idiot he was, and the witcher mirrored that smile.

“I really want to touch your face now. Just to know if you are frowning as always or maybe letting those lips curl up.” He said and slowly lifted his hands. Geralt caught them in the air. Strong fingers curled over thin wrists. Gently, but firmly. Jaskier’s smile didn’t fell. His eyes softened, and he blinked slowly.

“I’m frowning.” The witcher rasped it out, and the poet giggled.

“You know what? I don’t believe you. I think you are smiling, and you are shy about it.”

“Shy?” Geralt raised his eyebrows while Jaskier nodded frantically.

“Yes. Shy because I don’t think anybody ever told you how nice your smile is.”

And the witcher’s smirk disappeared immediately. He let go of Jaskier’s hands and stoop up. Clearing his throat from the dryness that was suffocating him.

“We must leave.”

“Sure. Yeah. Ladies to save, monsters to slay and all that.” Jaskier nodded as he pushed himself up and dusted off his loose trousers. Geralt watched as the brunet checked his pockets, see if he had all his little belongings, then grinned toward the mutant and reached for his hand.

The witcher gently held Jaskier’s forearm and guided him to Roach. The poet was sitting in the saddle comfortably in a few seconds as Geralt pulled himself up behind him easily. The bard felt the warm air against the back of his neck. He was terribly ticklish since he was a youth. He never told anyone before, afraid if someone would take advantage of this knowledge. The idea of Geralt tickling him mercilessly made him shiver with a teeny chuckle.

He loved these moments. He lost his eyesight seven days ago, and these rides were his absolute favourites. Each time they were together on the back of Roach, Geralt kept describing everything around them to him. His rough voice in his ear, from so close he could feel the witcher’s breath on his cheeks.

Sometimes when the road was too uneven or rocky, Geralt had to sit closer to him. So close to him, their whole bodies touched, and he had a strong arm pressing him against the mutant’s chest. And Jaskier adored those moments.

He sometimes imagined what it would feel like to turn his head and place a kiss on Geralt’s lips, or maybe the man could press a kiss on his neck. The possibilities were endless. All he knew that he wanted the witcher to touch him. Even if it was a friendly palm over his hips, making sure he will not slip off Roach. Or something more intimate, perhaps downright naughty…

But what they had was enough, he kept telling himself. He shouldn’t be so greedy. He should cherish what he has right now and stop yearning for more. Even if it slowly killed him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked quietly when the man clicked with his tongue, and the mare started to walk down the path. “Could you please talk to me?”

Geralt couldn’t see Jaskier’s expression, and his scent confused him. It was like a maze, and the witcher didn’t have a map. But he travelled with the bard for long enough to get used to being left in the darkness. Jaskier was still a mystery he enjoyed to work on. So he talked.

“Have I ever told you about my brothers?”

“No, you have not. Love, you barely told me anything. So please do.” Jaskier laughed and leaned against that armoured torso with a grin as he heard the man snort behind him.

“I think you would like Lambert. You two are similar in some ways.”

“Is he as dashing and charming and infuriatingly talented as my humble self?” Jaskier purred, and Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle as the young bardling wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“He is annoying.”

“Rude.” Jaskier pulled a face, but there was no menace in that word. His heart was beating slowly, and he smelled fresh and happy. Geralt just simply couldn’t get enough of his scent, so he talked. He talked because he didn’t want to think. He could not think about their future. Their future which wasn’t truly _theirs_. The witcher knew very well that this phase would be nothing but a distant memory one day.

He can’t possibly travel with the bard forever. Jaskier was wild and adventurous and untamed, and he will grow bored of Geralt. Sooner or later, the poet will need more. He will miss his royal life. He will miss people and the love they gave him unless you are with a butcher.

He was too young and naïve, and it was now Geralt’s responsibility to be the rational and liable one. He has to think about the poet’s future because of what future he could have with a witcher? Pain and death and suffering that is all he will gain.

Geralt talked. His lips were moving without him thinking about what he even wanted to say. It seemed like Jaskier’s spirit possessed him. And the poet enjoyed it thoroughly.

The mutant’s voice was a low rumbling like a slow river finding its way through a rocky path. It was so relaxing, yet Jaskier was on edge. His whole body was on fire. Being so close to the other man without crossing that invisible line was getting unbearable. Being stripped of his eyesight gave him a lot of free time to think, and all his thoughts were about Geralt. He depended on the mutant. All he felt and touched was either the witcher or Roach. All he heard was that gravelly voice.

He was wrapped in Geralt like a child in a warm blanket. He was never so vulnerable in his life. Not even as an infant.

He ran away to study. Crossed the land with nothing but his charm and fast legs to help him out of dangerous situations. He wandered on the Continent alone before he met the witcher in Posada. He started learning how to fight from the mutant. Before he met Geralt, he was… he was nothing but a brave idiot. Now he was a useless idiot.

In love, to add another spoonful of misery to his existence.

Jaskier didn’t even realise when he let out a massive sigh. But the silver-haired hunter did, and he stopped talking promptly.

“I… apologise. I’m boring.” The man mumbled, and the brunet blinked his blind eyes open out of pure habit. He was leaning against the witcher’s chest fully. He tipped his head to the side. He thinks he could have seen a pale, snowy collarbone if the curse would magically disappear.

“No. Geralt, no, that is not why I-”

“I can’t tell stories like how you do. I… I envy you, sometimes.”

Sharp pain bit into Jaskier’s heart. Geralt’s gruff voice was chock-full of embarrassment. The bard felt the mutant’s whole body tighten up like stretched out fabric ready to be ripped open. Jaskier reached for the reins. His soft fingers ran over the leather strings until he found Geralt’s scarred knuckles.

The mutant dropped his amber eyes to where the troubadour worked hard to peel his fingers off the reins. He smiled softly and unclenched his fist. Jaskier grinned triumphantly and pulled the hand until Geralt’s palm was resting on his chest. Just above the troubadour’s racing heart.

“I know you can hear my heartbeat. Absolutely unfair, by the way. But I want you to feel it as well.” The bard said hurriedly and let out a shaky breath. “I love when you tell your witcher stories. I love it when you talk about your family. I love it when you talk. Full stop. I like your voice, Geralt. It’s like an earthquake, but it’s soft like silk at the same time. Inexplicable.” Jaskier wanted to keep going. He was on a roll, and Geralt deserved to know how much he loved his scratchy voice. But he was interrupted.

The witcher let out a hearty laugh, and the brunet was so fucking angry he couldn’t see it.

“You have proved my point.” The mutant grunted and enjoyed the tiny hiccup in Jaskier’s heartbeat. Like a bubble popped. It was adorable, just like how that honeyed scent rose, getting the air turning into a sweet cloud around them. It made his mouth water.

“Well, I learned poetry from the greatest minds on the Continent while you were slaying beasts. I think flattery and fair words were not your priority.” Jaskier murmured and let go of Geralt’s hand. Still, it stayed there on the poet’s chest. The witcher’s cooler fingers were making the bard tremble.

“Y-you don’t have to be a poet, Geralt. Leave that to me. Describe things as you wish.”

“Hm.”

“Please, continue!” Jaskier smiled and leaned back against the witcher once again. Head was slowly swinging on Geralt’s shoulder as Roach walked under them. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine how the sky looked like. The sun is shining through the crown of the trees. Fluffy clouds like sheep on a field. Geralt’s stubby jawline and hair like an icy waterfall.

Gorgeous.

As much as the mutant couldn’t appreciate or understand art, he was beautiful. In a lyrical way. Like a black and grey painting. Dark and messy. Confusing yet so simplistically pretty.

“Like a poem.” Jaskier murmured and grabbed the hand on his chest, wrapping his fingers around the cold flesh tightly. He didn’t need eyes to see how magnificent Geralt was anyway.

They reached the next town as they were. Sitting together on Roach. Jaskier was playing with Geralt’s thumb and knocked their fingers together, tapping them as they were piano keys while the mutant talked about his brothers. If people were staring at them, well, Geralt didn’t say anything. Jaskier dropped his head and hid his grin. He was trying to bite away his smile. The mutant hopped off the horse, and he helped the poet down as well. He thanked him shyly as he pulled the lute up and over his shoulders.

Geralt rented them a room. He brought up all of their packs while Jaskier sat on their bed.

“Lock the door from the inside. I will knock when I come back.” Geralt said as he looked at the bard sitting on the bed. Jaskier seemed small. He was curled up. His shoulders slouched. A forged smile on his lips as he nodded.

“Do you promise you will be careful? I won’t be there to watch your back and save the day, you know.” The bard shrugged, and the witcher grinned at the young man. He wanted to stay here with him. Study that smile until it becomes genuine.

“I’ll manage.” Geralt grunted and crossed the room, kneeling in front of Jaskier. The key was too rough and cold in the brunet’s palm, but the mutant’s fingers wrapped around his hand and pulled him up. “Don’t let anyone in. I will pay for some food after I got back.”

It was hard to say it out loud that he used his last coins for the room. Say that they had no money for dinner.

“Don’t worry. I will feed on inspiration and music while you are gone. Just please come back as soon as you can. In one piece, preferably.” He grinned and stood up as Geralt led him to the door.

“No one, Jaskier.”

“Got it. Not a single soul in or out. Not like I want to go anywhere, to be honest. I’m sure I wouldn’t even find the stairs and as sad as it is, no one is craving for my lovely company.”

Jaskier was rambling, but all Geralt wanted is to tell him that _he was_. He was craving for the bardling’s lovely company and more. But he didn’t say anything. His hands were halfway there to hold the brunet’s cheek before he stepped away and opened the door.

“Come back to me.” The whisper was so tiny and powerless Geralt nearly missed because of the loud creaking of the door. He looked back, but the small light that came out of their room disappeared, and Jaskier locked the door as he promised. The witcher left the tavern with a smile.

The farmers were happy to see Geralt, which was a surprise. They even sang a few lines from that damned song and cheered as the witcher left, walking to the fields to find whatever beasts were killing the workers.

There was a frightener infestation on the field. These insectoid creatures were like the plague. Eating and spoiling everything they touched and leaving nothing but emptiness and rotten grounds behind them. They were more than a dozen of them.

Great.

As much as Geralt denied it, killing these lowlife worms was satisfying in a way. It cleared his head. Each time something jumped on his back or bit into his calves, his heart pumped a tad faster, and he forgot about the blind bard he left in their room.

Each time he felt the fresh warm blood splash all over his cheeks, he didn’t see those hoping blue eyes staring at him lovingly. He hated those eyes. He hated how much he loved them. It didn’t make any sense. Even now, when he had his whole fist inside a frightener’s lung, he still thought about Jaskier.

It wasn’t safe. He should focus, yet all he could think about was going back to the poet and fell asleep next to him.

Vesemir would punch him in the face if he saw him like this. He was playing with these monsters and taking his time with them. It wasn’t how he was supposed to hunt. He finds them. He kills them. He collects the coins. Yet here he was, slicing up these insects as if he was preparing dinner.

He was slow on purpose. Some part of his brain was making him stay away from Jaskier as long as it was possible. And in the meantime, all he wanted is to go back to the brunet and be with him. Breathe his scent in. Burry his nose into those thick locks. Listen to his voice as he sings and talks and laughs.

Geralt had seen some addicts. Opium. Magic. Sex. Alcohol. It could be many things. It could be anything. He had seen what it does to a person, how it ruins their lives. Turns them into empty vessels. Nothing but cravings and need.

Geralt could feel it creeping inside his chest. The addiction. The hunger for Jaskier. That thirst. It scared him, and the witcher wasn’t scared of anything. He was not supposed to _feel_. Yet here he was running back to his bard like…

The mutant stopped and shook his head.

Jaskier wasn’t his, and he never will be.

The monster hunter looked around the field. It was a real battlefield. Blood, carcasses, still jerking body parts, small fires. The brunet would find it gorgeous, he was sure. He was good at that. Seeing the beauty in things that were nothing but repulsive. Like Geralt.

Jaskier was composing. Writing into his notebook was difficult at first, but he got used to it by now. Or at least he thought he did. He will only figure it out once he gets his eyesight back. The bard put down his lute next to the bed where he sat. His songs were rather cheerful in the last couple of days. He couldn’t help it. Each time he thought about the witcher, he couldn’t stop grinning. His fingers were running over the strings like a joyful little dance. He couldn’t come up with anything dramatic. His head was filled with this flowery pink cloud, and all his thoughts about Geralt were… happy?

Who would have thought? When he walked into that tavern in Posada, intending to get enough coins to buy lunch for the first time in days. Or at least eat something they throw at him… Who would have thought he would meet someone like Geralt there? Meet the love of his…

“Oh, no. I am not thinking about this or saying it out loud. It would make it too real.” Jaskier groaned and flopped down on the bed. “Love of my life. Sounds ridiculous. He would hate it.” He mumbled to himself even though he knew it wasn’t true.

One day he will be brave enough to tell it to Geralt. Maybe in a few weeks or months. And he hoped, Jaskier really fucking hoped the mutant will call him silly and maybe… perhaps tell him he feels the same. Kiss him. Call him his idiot and wrap the poet into those strong arms.

Well, one can dream. Because that was all it was; just a dream. Even if sometimes, sometimes Jaskier felt like Geralt was warming up to him. Slowly, but the grunts and cursing were rare now. The witcher started to participate in the conversations, and Jaskier was so happy he felt like he was floating.

Jaskier had a permanent smirk on his face. Even just thinking about the witcher was making his skin prickle and warm up. He was uncomfortable, yet he liked it. The brunet hasn’t been this needy since his early teenage years when he started noticing girls and… well, boys as well. One touch from the mutant, and he was a boneless, shivering mess.

Jaskier was on edge, and he was one friendly hug away from jumping at Geralt until the witcher was a sweating, groaning mess of a muscle under him… or above him… it didn’t really matter. The poet wasn’t picky when it came to the silver-haired man. He would take anything Geralt is willing to give. However, he is ready to give it.

“Stop it, Jaskier, before it is too late.” He moaned as he lay down on the bed.

He missed the sight of him. He missed seeing those golden glares and feral grins. Jaskier sometimes wondered how it would feel to take all everything that Geralt was. How would it feel to have those arms and lips on his skin?

Would he be loud? Quiet as a church mouse? Chatty? Oh fuck, Jaskier hoped he would let loose. He hoped Geralt would ramble. Say everything that comes to his mind. Say everything he always wanted but felt too vulnerable to vocalise. Tell him how much and how long he wanted this. Because the bard knew if he would ever get his paws on that gorgeous scarred skin, he would not shut the hell up. Ever.

He would tell Geralt how much he adored his dimples when the witcher smiled at him. How much he liked that little heart-shaped cut on his lower back. How gorgeous he was when his hair wasn’t tied back. How much he wanted to taste him. Everywhere. Bite and bruise that pale skin.

Gods, Jaskier could feel his body heat up. His fingers were tingling. His eyes rolled back, and his mouth fell open. He couldn’t even remember when was the last time he enjoyed someone else’s company. Months ago, probably. He was so obsessed with Geralt he forgot others existed as well.

But who could blame him? Who would want anyone else when the bloody White Wolf was an arm’s length away. Geralt was like the sweetest, richest wine. Once you taste it, everything else tastes like horse piss, and Jaskier was thirsty. His mouth and throat were so dry it was burning up.

The young man didn’t even realised when he pulled his light purple coloured chemise out of his trousers. Or when his hips lifted from the bed so he can drag down the tight material over his arse and thighs.

Somewhere in the still rational part of his mind, Jaskier remembered that maybe he shouldn’t do this in the room that he shared with Geralt. With the witcher who could smell anything on him. Or on the sheets. But the brunet was a little shite. He chuckled harshly as he licked a long, wet stripe across his right palm.

Good. Let him find out.

He wanted the mutant to step into the room and know right away what Jaskier did there. After all, he has always been a tease. A flirt. He was goddamn provoking and taunting. He was that last sip of sweet tea where the honey and lemon sat on the bottom of the cup. At least that was all his previous lovers told him.

Amongst many other things.

He wondered what Geralt would call him. His love? Jaskier groaned as his hips bucked up and thrust into his fist with a whimper. His songbird? Jaskier felt his thighs tremble as he bit his lip. Or just simply _his_.

“Fuck, Geralt.” The brunet wasn’t even trying to control his voice. Let them hear him. Let everyone listen to him in this godforsaken bar. He hoped he can moan loud enough so the witcher will hear him, wherever he is right now.

He could easily imagine that his hand was Geralt’s larger one. Or maybe the witcher could just stand in the doorway and stare at him with those inhumanly feline eyes while Jaskier tossed and turned from pleasure on the sheet. Calling out his name with a grin on his lips until the mutant gives in and snaps.

“Mhh.”

Jaskier tightened his fingers, and his back arched. He was sure he looked absolutely wrecked. His chemise was sticking to his damp skin. He was always flushed red when he was turned on. Curse of being a pale, freckled bastard.

The poet was so far gone thinking about kissing and licking Geralt’s chest until the witcher had enough and pins him down, fucking the living soul out of Jaskier, that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps on the hallway. He wasn’t aware of anything surrounding him. It was just him, and that suffocating heat around him, and the witcher’s glowing eyes in his head.

The rapid banging on the door was not part of the fantasy.

“Oh dear, just piss off, please!” Jaskier shouted and tried to drift back into that scene where he was somewhere in between Geralt’s legs, and there wasn’t some arsehole trying to break into their room.

The knocking continued. It sounded like someone was slamming on the wood with their palms.

“Go away!” Jaskier groaned and tried to speed up his wrist a little bit, just when the banging disappeared. “Finally.”

The door quickly gave out as someone kicked it open, and it broke into pieces by the hinges.

“What the-” Jaskier shouted as he immediately pulled his trousers up and tried to crawl back on the bed. “Who is it?”

“Well, I’ll be damned. The rumours are true. The witcher’s bard really is blind.”

The voice was deep and raggedy, like someone who drank too much and spoke too little. There were laughs as well. More than one, and Jaskier could feel something cold and weighty drop inside his stomach.

“W-who are you? What do you want?” He asked as he heard someone coming closer. It seemed too silly to pull the blanket up to his chest, but at that moment, it was the closest thing to a shield. “Geralt is not here, and it would be wise to leave before he comes back. The last twat who attacked me was left behind without his head.” Jaskier wished his voice would stop shaking. Or his goddamn eyesight would come back magically. But neither of them happened.

He felt someone sat down next to him. He flinched away. He doesn’t know why, but he was expecting a punch. A slap. Maybe someone grabbing his hair.

“Take anything you want, b-but please keep the lute. It was a gift.” Jaskier turned away. His fingers were getting cramped as he held the blanket. “Please just-”

“We are not here for your fancy clothes, bard.” The man said, and the brunet felt the bed shift under the stranger’s weight.

“You can’t kill him. Geralt is-”

The warm breath on his cheek was carrying the stench of cheap ale. Jaskier’s whole body froze as he felt calloused fingers grab his chin so firmly he was sure it would leave blue bruises on his skin. He immediately fights against it. He has kicked and pushed. He tried to bit into that hand, but whoever was the man, he was way too strong for him.

“We are here for you, Viscount.”

Jaskier bolted out of bed but was too slow and too blind to get away. They hit him on the back of his head with something blunt. He felt the sheet as it was tangled around his ankles. He tried to get a hold onto something, anything, but he fell to the floor like a sack of rocks. He felt warm blood ran down on his nape. His whole body went limp and heavy in mere seconds. He wanted to call out Geralt’s name before he passed out, hoping that the witcher was close enough to hear him. But he couldn’t. His eyelids were heavy, and his brain darkened as if someone blew out that tiny flickering candle inside his skull.

Jaskier passed out on the floor of their room. With the witcher’s name on his lips, unaware of the satisfied look the three men shared as he finally stopped moving.

Geralt collected the coins for the frighteners and politely rejected the offers he got from the farmers. He never said no to a free drink before, but he had to hurry to the market. He wanted to surprise Jaskier. He knew that the bard wasn’t complaining as much as he used to, but he was suffering. This curse, being so exposed and defenceless. Depending on someone who never cared about anyone or anything else before was leaving its mark on his spirit.

Geralt knew he wasn’t easy to be around. He wasn’t someone who naturally cared for others, and it was difficult for him. But he tried. He wanted to try even harder. Even when the crowd parted away as soon as he stepped to the market square. Everyone turned to glare at him. The chit-chatting stopped, and the whole town went as silent as a cemetery.

The scent of juicy sausages being cooked on open fired turned bitter in the air as the monster-hunter started to walk between the stands. The people split apart as if the ground was cracking beneath their feet, and they wanted to escape from falling into the pit.

It was nothing new. Folks mostly treated him like a leper. It became better since he had Jaskier by his side. Or maybe he was just too distracted by the poet; he didn’t notice the gawking anymore. He knew he was covered in blood. He didn’t waste time to stop and get cleaned up by a fountain. He will have a bath when he gets back in the tavern. Maybe Jaskier would even offer to wash his hair. Geralt would never admit it, but he loved having those talented slender fingers on his scalp.

The brunet loved these fairs. He loved talking with the villagers and admiring their craftsmanship. He loved running through his knuckles over wool clothing. Touching and trying on jewellery. Have a little tasting here and there. He was flirting with the ladies, joking with the men. Peacocking around while sending winks to the brooding witcher.

Maybe something from the market will cheer him up. Remind him this curse was only temporary.

“Are you looking for something, Witcher?”

The tradesman was an older man with an accent Geralt never heard before. He was the first person since he came to the square who looked him in the eye, so the mutant liked him already.

“I want to surprise a friend.”

“Well, your friend has a fine taste.” The man showed him a crooked smile, and the mutant tried to copy it without any luck. He was terrible at this. Small talk and being friendly was pure torture. He felt like he was snarling instead of smiling. He felt like such an outsider.

He needed Jaskier to be the bridge between him and society.

Geralt was there for over thirty minutes. Every part of his arms smelled differently. He tried over fifty perfumes. He knew that Jaskier’s was nearly empty, and the brunet liked scenting like a freshly cut bouquet. And the witcher loved it as well. Watching the bard get dressed in the morning. Wash his face. Applying his perfumes to his wrists as he rubbed them together. He was combing his hair. Spread some more fragrance on his long neck.

Jaskier’s skin was always so warm; these scented oils were radiating off of him. It was making Geralt drunk. All he wanted was to bury his nose into the crook of the brunet’s neck as he breathes him in until he can smell nothing but that honeyed scent.

Roach glared at him as Geralt put the glass jars in the saddlebag.

“Don’t judge me. He deserves them.”

The mare only huffed at him and turned back to stare at the villagers. The witcher patted her long neck and clicked his tongue. Roach followed him obediently, and perhaps Geralt sneaked a sugar cube into his palm and smirked as the horse munched on it with some happy grunts.

As soon as the mutant stepped into the tavern, he knew that something wasn’t alright. The air was sour. Sour from fear, and it was too quiet. The owner didn’t even look at Geralt as he mumbled to the witcher while he cleaned the tables.

“We don’t want any trouble here, Butcher. You should leave before they come back for more.”

Geralt frowned at the man. His wife was in the kitchen. Her eyes were racing between the witcher and the owner.

“And you have to pay for the door.”

The witcher left like an arrow shot from a bow. He didn’t bother walking around the chairs and tables. He pushed them aside as if they weighed nothing. Geralt was running up the stairs taking three in one step. He heard a woman cursing downstairs as a fight broke out. His fingers were turning white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. His heart was beating so loud in his ears, the shouting coming from the kitchen was nothing but like the wind blowing outside.

“Jaskier?”

The hallway was empty. Muddy footsteps were dried on the wooden floor. Drops of fresh blood here and there. Their door was shattered. Splinters everywhere as someone kicked it open and broke it.

He could still smell Jaskier’s fear in the air. It lingered their like smoke.

Their room wasn’t touched. They weren’t some lowlife thieves; it was clear. They haven’t touched anything else. If they were educated enough in elvish history and culture, they would have realised that lute was worth a fortune. But they take what they came for. Something far more valuable.

“Fuck.” Geralt kicked the blanket on the floor. It still smelled like lavender. “Fuck!” The mirror shattered into million pieces as he threw a chair against the wardrobe. “FUCK!”

The roar that came out of his lungs was not human-like. He could hear the owner ran up the stairs. Geralt was seeing red. He could feel his fingers twitching as he let go of his sword. He wanted to punch something. Someone. He wanted to grip someone’s neck and squeeze it until there was no pulse.

The silver-haired man knew how looking into the reaper’s eyes felt like. He was near death, felt her cold, bony fingers gripping him too many times to count. Never once he panicked. He was never terrified. Each time he thought he would die, he felt relief. Peace.

But now? Now he wanted to turn into that monster everyone saw in him. If people thought the Butcher of Blaviken was bad, he will show them how it is when Geralt of Rivia lets hell break loose.

“You will pay for that, Witcher! You and your little whore will-”

The man didn’t see it coming. He didn’t see the mutant jumping at him with a hiss. He didn’t know how the witcher grabbed a dagger from his booth. The owner only felt the sharp and excruciating pain as the blade sliced through the back of his hand like it was nothing but butter. He was pinned against the wall. Hand bleeding in long crimson stripes on the mouldy, peeling paint.

The man was in shock from the pain in a second. Geralt had to hold his neck to get the man’s frightened, wide eyes back on him.

“You fuckin’ animal you-”

“Who took him?”

Geralt shouted. There was no use in trying to control the storm that was in his throat. His fingers were trembling as he gripped the man’s neck. He could feel his windpipe bobbing under his palm.

“I-I don’t know. They just-just burst in. Wanted to know which room is yours.” The man stuttered as tears started to run down his bearded cheeks. The shock was wearing off fast, and pain started to shook his body. Agony is taking over all of his senses.

Good.

“And you told them?” Geralt asked. He was pushing the words through closed teeth. He grabbed the dagger that pinned the man to the wall and twisted it. The scream was echoing in the whole neighbourhood.

“What was I supposed to do? Get killed for you? Or for you rent-boy? I have a family!”

“HE IS MY FAMILY! He is everything I have, and you let them take him. I…”

Geralt stepped away, and the man fell to the floor. Sobbing like the sack of shite he was. Geralt rubbed a hand over his face. He could feel blood smearing across his cheeks. His heart was beating so fast in his chest; his senses were exploding. He couldn’t see straight or think straight.

All he could think about was the bard. Blind. Scared. Alone. Beaten. Bleeding. Maybe dead. While he took his fucking sweet time with the frighteners. While he played with them. While he was buying perfumes, Jaskier was taken away.

“Fuck!”

“Three men. Heading to the south. Your boy was alive when they took him. Not more than an hour ago.”

Geralt turned toward a man who whined as he tried to pull out the dagger from his hand. The witcher kneeled in front of him and yanked the blade out of the wall effortlessly, clamping a bloody palm over the man’s mouth.

“You are going to walk down with me. Tell your wife or whoever you fuck everything is fine, and then you will show me which way they are headed.” Geralt’s voice was dangerously low as he wiped the blood into the man’s shirt from his dagger. “If you tell anyone what happened here. If you touch anything in this room until I'm back, I will gut you in front of your family. With my bare hands.”

Geralt wasn’t sure if the man pissed himself or it was just the stench of the tavern. He honestly didn't care. He didn’t care about his wife either, who broke a chair on the witcher’s back when he dragged the owner down the stairs. Or the way the woman tried to stand in the doorway. Geralt put her aside with one arm, yanking the crying and whining man behind him with his other.

“Stop! Stop, I’m going to bleed out!”

“Not through your hand. Now talk. Which way?” Geralt said as he threw the man on the dusty road. The man was pale. He was nearly passing out. Or having a heart attack, judging by how fast his heart was beating. The mutant knew that he was running out of time. He was losing that small amount of humanity he still had. That part of him that still hung around because of Jaskier. Who was abducted and needed him. “TALK!”

“A-Alright, just please don’t hurt my family.”

It stung inside his chest. It stung because he knew that for Jaskier… for him, he would do anything. And this man was afraid for a reason. Geralt was a beast, and he wasn’t afraid to do something he will regret later. Do something that will keep him up at night. Do something that will make the poet hate him.

But Geralt couldn’t help it. He was shaking from rage. He wanted to roar and take everything apart until it was beyond saving.

He can’t lose Jaskier. Not now. Not when they needed each other this much. Not when… not when he finally realised he loves that stupid bardling.

Roach knew that something was wrong as soon as she saw the mutant. She was too bright, and Geralt was fuming. He could feel his blood boil inside his veins.

“Don’t worry, girl. We will get him back.” Geralt whispered as he held the mare’s big cheeks and pressed a quick, quivering kiss to her forehead. “He belongs to us.”

And for a second, the witcher really did believe that. Jaskier belonged to them. To him. They belong together, and if he needs to kill everyone on this Continent to get him back, if he needs to grow fangs and horns to save him, Geralt will do it without a second thought.

Jaskier didn’t need a hero to save him. He needed a monster who wasn’t scared to do anything. And well, it was a long time ago when Geralt let his true self come to a surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope everyone had a great time. This year is nearly over so hang in there!
> 
> Please leave a comment, and tell me what you think or come and find me on twitter  
> @doberainbow
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> 💖


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